Doomtown Reloaded: Entertainment! (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, 12:16:25</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Doomtown Reloaded: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>08-03-2013, 12:16:25</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">Entertainment!</span></strong></div><br><div align="center">This thread is reserved for roleplaying that takes place in anyo of Gamorra's saloons, brothels, hotels or casinos.&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><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Gomorra's Entertainments</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Brothels</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Dance Hall</div><div class="spoiler_body"> <br><strong>Owner:</strong>&nbsp; Alberto Sabitini <br><strong>Operator:</strong>&nbsp; Alberto Sabitini<br><strong>Quality:</strong>&nbsp; Poor<br><strong>Description:</strong>Not so much a brothel as an 'adult burlesque show,' the Dance Hall is populated by a number of dancers who are remarkably attractive.&nbsp; The Dance Hall doesn't provide sexual services, but it offers regular all nude stage shows, and the dancers will grind in a cowboy's lap for fifty cents.&nbsp; Alberto has been known to fly into a violent rage if a miner or a cowpoke tries to touch one of his entertainers, and imagines himself to be a cultural savant, pushing the boundaries of art.</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Den of Eastern Delights</div><div class="spoiler_body"> <br><strong>Owner:</strong>&nbsp; “Mr. Lee”<br><strong>Operator:</strong>&nbsp; “Mr. Lee”<br><strong>Quality:</strong>&nbsp; El Cheapo<br><strong>Description:</strong>&nbsp; The Den of Eastern Delights offends many socialites in the city.&nbsp; It offers the fruit of the poppy, cheap, and the soiled doves are all of Chinese origin.&nbsp; Few stir out of their opium slumber, even for a willing customer.&nbsp; All but the most hard hearted patrons leave with a sense of guilt, and shame, but for most of the miners this is one of the few affordable establishments.</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Miss Greene's Room</div><div class="spoiler_body"> <br><strong>Owner:</strong>&nbsp; Miss Maybelle Greene<br><strong>Operator:</strong>&nbsp; Susannah Beck<br><strong>Quality:</strong>&nbsp; Extraordinary<br><strong>Description:</strong>Miss Greene's courtesans are known throughout the city – though only by reputation.&nbsp; Miss Greene takes great care to make certain the identities of her courtesans aren't publicly known.&nbsp; Rumor abounds that the courtesans are housewives and daughters of other prominent members of Gomorra's community. The “Greene Room” requires a 300 dollar membership fee, on top of the price for individual visits.&nbsp; Miss Greene's clientele list is much gossiped about, but the details has never been divulged. Her discretion is well-trusted by the wealthier members of the city who use her services</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Shady Jake's</div><div class="spoiler_body"> <br><strong>Owner:</strong>&nbsp; Jacob “Shady Jake” Hampton<br><strong>Operator:</strong>&nbsp; Jacob “Shady Jake” Hampton<br><strong>Quality:</strong>&nbsp; Ordinary<br><strong>Description:</strong>Shady Jake managed to skirt the decency laws of Gomorra's business district by doubling as a restaurant.&nbsp; The waitresses serve overpriced meals (ordinary quality, but charging fine rates) in nothing more than an apron.&nbsp; A half dozen back rooms and a 'dessert menu' accommodate those with lewder tastes, as the only desserts listed on the menu are the various girls serving food and beverages.</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">The Gilded Feather</div><div class="spoiler_body"> <br><strong>Owner:</strong>&nbsp; Arthur Hays<br><strong>Operator:</strong>&nbsp; Arthur Hays<br><strong>Quality:</strong>&nbsp; Fine<br><strong>Description:</strong>Designed in a somewhat ostentatious French theme, the Gilded Feather is run by someone who clearly doesn't understand a word of French.&nbsp; While the 'Mademoiselles ' are quite beautiful, most don't speak a word of English, either, or at least pretend ignorance while at the Feather.&nbsp; &nbsp; The Feather desperately wants to be Miss Greene's Room, but it lacks sophistication, charm, and discretion.&nbsp; Instead, it tends to attract nouveau riche miners and businessmen who are drawn in by the show of art and sculpture.</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">The Perch</div><div class="spoiler_body"> <br><strong>Owner:</strong>&nbsp; Victor Markos<br><strong>Operator:</strong>&nbsp; Victor Markos<br><strong>Quality:</strong>&nbsp; Fine<br><strong>Description:</strong>Unlike the Feather, The Perch has no delusions of grandeur.&nbsp; 'Perched' upon the edge of the Mesa, with part of the building arching over the waters of the Great Maze, The Perch is a hedonists delight.&nbsp; Instead of purchasing time with an individual dove, the patrons of The Perch purchase a night of bliss, sampling the wares of as many of the doves they have the stamina to enjoy in a single night.&nbsp; Open from sundown to sunup, The Perch's customers rarely depart before the first light of morning.</div></div></div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Casinos</div><div class="spoiler_body">Big Doc's Casino <br>Buster's Gambling Hall <br>Casino Morongo <br>New Dunwitch Casino</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Hotels</div><div class="spoiler_body">Flophouse<br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">The Golden Mare</div><div class="spoiler_body"> <br><strong>Owner:</strong>&nbsp; Miss Maybelle Greene<br><strong>Operator:</strong>&nbsp; Matthew Hardin<br><strong>Quality:</strong>&nbsp; Extraordinary<br><strong>Description:</strong>Miss Greene's association with the finest hotel in Gomorra is not quite public knowledge; most in the entertainment business themselves are aware she is the owner, but she is largely happy to allow the public the impression that Matthew Hardin is operator and owner.&nbsp; For an uncivilized western town, the Golden Mare is something of a surprise – a diamond in the rough with elegant décor, carefully stained hardwoods and taste that would impress the most jaded of debutantes.&nbsp; While it might not be a match in size for the hotels of the East Coast, it is certainly a match in elegance and speaks to an extraordinarily refined taste.</div></div>Henry's Hole<br>No Tell Hotel <br>Nick's Never Closes<br>Red Hill Hotel<br>Sunnyside Hotel</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Saloons</div><div class="spoiler_body">Buffalo Chip Saloon<br>Derailed Cafe<br>Green-Eye Saloon<br>Lyndon Station Saloon<br>LAD Saloon<br>New Moon Saloon<br>Old Moon Saloon<br>Polecat Saloon<br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Scared Stiff Saloon</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/5/50/Scaredstiff.jpg)<br></div><strong>Owner:</strong>&nbsp; Ethan "Southpaw" Huss<br><strong>Operator:</strong>&nbsp; Ethan "Southpaw" Huss<br><strong>Quality:</strong>&nbsp; El Cheapo<br><br>When you're down to your last dollar and no other place in Gomorra will have you and even those in the tent city of Soddom turn up their nose it's still probably not a good idea to wander into the Scared Stiff Saloon or “Stiffys” as people regularly call it. Ethan Huss had once been one of the most ornery miners in the area before an argument with a particularly stubborn rock face. He lost the argument and his right arm for his troubles. Not that that improved his mood or made him any less of a mean-spirited cuss.<br><br>There's not much call for a one-armed miner in the Great Maze and so Ethan went into the only industry he had any experience of, saloons. Unfortunately his experience of saloons generally consisted of getting blind drunk and starting fights and it was no surprise when the Scared Stiff Saloon turned into the least reputable establishment in an area known for its less than reputable establishments. The atmosphere echoed the name; a dark and gloomy place where the worst of the worst in Gomorra came together. When nowhere else would have a person they found themselves in Stiffys, those too vicious for normal Gomorran life but too stupid for the gangs that offered home to other such miscreants. The sort of people who would slit a man's throat for the last coin in his pocket... and then lose the coin. If one could get past the general stench of the place they'd find an almost palpable smell of fear in the air, the sense that violence was never more than a moment away.<br><br><hr><br><span class="bbc_u">Price List:</span><br><br>Whisky <em>(well, they say it's whisky)</em><br><ul class="bbc_list"><li>Shot: 5¢</li><li>Bottle: $1</li></ul><br>Vodka <em>(well, they say it's vodka... but you couldn't tell it apart from the whisky)</em><br><ul class="bbc_list"><li>Shot: 5¢</li><li>Bottle: $1</li></ul><br>Tequila <em>(well, they say it's Tequila... but you... yeah, you know...)</em><br><ul class="bbc_list"><li>Shot: 5¢</li><li>Bottle: $1</li></ul><br>Beer <em>(You'd be a brave person to even think about what goes into it...)</em><br><ul class="bbc_list"><li>2¢</li></ul></div></div>The Side Pocket Billiard Hall<br>Water Lou's <br>Whiskey Nick's Joint</div></div></div></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>10-03-2013, 09:23:18</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; Early Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; The Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr><strong>"Of course it offers amenities,</strong>" he said with a smile.&nbsp; <strong>"Complimentary bar and two meals a day,</strong>" he explained.&nbsp; <strong>"Room cleaning and turn down.&nbsp; Extra for top shelf liquers, I'm afraid, and with the premium on water we've had to begin charging extra for baths."</strong><br><br>The clerk was attentive, and duly polite despite her indifference to the surroundings.&nbsp; He noted the names, offering a friendly smile and then provided directions to the church.<br><br><strong>"St. Martin's Chapel,"</strong> he explained.&nbsp; <strong>"I understand Father Ortega is himself a Catholic, but he offers service to any Christian."</strong>&nbsp; He gave a small nod.&nbsp; He considered about the dress shops.&nbsp; <strong>"There's two tailoring shops, they do dress work, and Fu Leng's offers dry cleaning as well as alterations but... </strong>" he leaned in conspiratorially.&nbsp; <strong>"It's chinky owned, and even their laundry service is <em>barely</em> serviceable.&nbsp; The best seamstress in town is Onneca de Goni, hands down.&nbsp; <em>Mexican</em>"</strong> he said with a sigh.&nbsp; <strong>"But her skill is commendable.&nbsp; I've never heard a complaint.&nbsp; The Bodega de Goni."</strong>&nbsp; He offered directions as well.<br><br><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0b/Msgreene.png)</div>He blanched a bit when she began to protest, quickly signalling a manager who listened to her complaints with calculated interest, nodding and then holding up a hand after a moment of checking the registry where the chipper clerk had written it down.&nbsp; <strong>"A moment, Mrs. Landry." </strong> He gave her a smile.&nbsp; <strong>"Your patience, please."</strong><br><br>He stepped around the desk, heading over to a woman who sipped tea in the foyer.&nbsp; She wore a bright blue dress, formal wear not seen on the streets of Gomorra often, and set a tiny tea cup down with a clink.&nbsp; She listened with a socialite's practiced smile, glancing over towards Margeurite and then giving a small nod.<br><br>The manager returned with a smile.&nbsp; <strong>"It won't be a trouble, ma'am.&nbsp; We'll settle accounts at the end of the month."</strong>&nbsp; He smiled graciously.&nbsp; <strong>"Alexander, would you collect Mrs. Landry's effects and settle them in her room?</strong>"<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>10-03-2013, 10:10:17</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/e/e7/Marguerite_Tuerny_06.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Marguerite Tuerny<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Early Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; The Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr>Marguerite watched as the man made his inquiries, wondering just who the woman was.&nbsp; She would have to find out, in good time.&nbsp; She gave the woman the smallest nod possible in return for her approval, a thank you sent wordlessly across the room.<br><br>She returned the man's gracious smile, but replied.&nbsp; "<strong>My effects have not yet arrived.&nbsp; You can tell the boy where to bring them."</strong>&nbsp; She followed the porter up to her room and let him familiarize her with the facilities.&nbsp; <strong>"Thank you."</strong>&nbsp; She knew she should tip the man, but she didn't have even the two-bits she should have proffered.&nbsp; She would certainly have to make it up to him some way.<br><br>Once he was gone, obviously displeased with his lack of gratuity, she went to the mirror and repaired her appearance as much as well as she could.&nbsp; This dress was fine for mid-week Mass - if the Priest even did daily Mass here.&nbsp; And it had been months since she'd attended.&nbsp; Not since her wedding Mass.&nbsp; So much to do, but now that she had the opportunity her highest priority was her return to normalcy.&nbsp; And what could be more normal than a good Catholic girl attending Mass?&nbsp; <br><br>Still, she hesitated.&nbsp; She didn't even have coin for candles - for her parents and for the numerous others that needed remembrance from her life - not yet twenty years and already so full of loss.&nbsp; She'd never thought - never considered - how awkward lack of money could be.&nbsp; Asking for credit when she didn't have the least idea how she'd pay had been easy, she just reminded herself that she was Marguerite Landry, and that she was entitled.<br><br>But not giving offering - even though it was entirely optional to do so - that to her just seemed wrong.&nbsp; Or was she simply making excuses?&nbsp; Didn't she want to talk to the Priest, establish herself in the community, return to a normal life, to forget her past and move on?&nbsp; With a final tightening of her up-done hair and a pat and tuck of a wayward lock, she resolved to get out and do what she must.<br><br>Minutes after her arrival, she left The Golden Mare and went in search of St. Martin's Chapel.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>14-03-2013, 04:00:00</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian Specter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open<br><hr><br>When on the trail, there are three things a man longs for: company, a place to sleep, and a good horse. As of late, Christian had found it hard to find any of those with any frequency. While he was skilled with horses, cattle, and the like, his obsession with the hunt had run many a mare ragged, and he was kind-hearted enough to not put another animal through that. Instead, he walked or rode shotgun with passing carriages. Every town he visited up and down the Maze and The Great Southwest always seemed to have someone headed his way, so he was blessed to find someone to tag along with on most cases. The problem is, those people only let him come along fearing he might gun them down if they refused. A renowned gunslinger is not someone you say no to, whether or not they are like ol' Spooky and only kill those that ask for it by grabbing at iron. Arriving in Gomorra, Christian had suddenly found himself with an abundance of the first two.<br><br>The morning came all too quickly for Christian. He had found a soft bed in Agatha's home, and Agatha herself made for great company. They had spent time together years ago, he having pulled her iron out of the fire and she knew him well enough to at least get him to sit a spell and talk. He enjoyed conversation with Agatha, though they usually delved into the physics and mechanics of whatever device she was working on at the time. He would just nod, and listen, though in truth he really did not understand most of what she said. What was important to him, was that she did not fear him, not the way most people did when they found out who he was. Tales were told of Christian ‘Spooky’ Specter around saloon tables after drinking had been done. He was a killer, a dour old cuss that would sooner shoot you than speak to you. Rumors blazed that he had killed two dozen men, no two-hundred, no it had to be at least a thousand in duels on main streets across the Maze, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas they would say. To meet Spooky on the street was as good as putting the barrel in your mouth and pulling the trigger yourself. <br><br>The two had parted that morning, her explanation being a Lady's Tea she attended to which Christian had only arched a skeptical eyebrow given his knowledge of their history together. He had tipped his hat all the same and sauntered into the streets of Gomorra to begin his hunt in earnest. The Man In Black was here, had to be, as all the rumors and interrogations had brought him here. Christian just had to find out where the bastard was hiding, and he could finally serve up a nice, hot plate of justice, with a cold side of revenge.<br><br>He was wearing clean clothes for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Truth was, it was the first time in almost a year since he had had so much as a bath. He had been hot on the heels of The Man In Black for the longest time, that nothing else had mattered. Not bathing, hardly changing clothes, eating was only a priority so long as it kept him on the trail hunting. Agatha, however, had insisted. His clothes were fresh, smelling lightly of soap, his face was shaven save for the mustache and goatee he wore. His infamous leather duster hung about him, despite the heat, his Stetson worn low shadowing his face. Even his boots were polished and clean. He wore the rifle sling across his back, the notorious ‘Doc’ Winchester ’76 hanging comfortably about him. The most notable thing about him, however, was the engraved Peacemaker at his right. When ‘Reaper’ was drawn, it was said to be as efficient as the Grim one himself with ferrying souls to the afterlife. <br><br>During his prowl of the city streets, it quickly became clear just how close he had gotten to his seemingly ineffable foe. The newsboy hawking the latest headline was enough to stop Christian mid stride. He grabbed a paper and scanned through the story about the Sheriff’s death. So few details to provide any real depth to what had happened, but Christian knew the reality all the same. The Man In Black was definitely in Gomorra, and he was the one who had killed the Sheriff. From what Christian knew of Black Jack’s gang, they were not cold-blooded killers. While Christian was not afraid to face any of them in a gunfight, it was not something he was itching to do. They wouldn’t just murder the Sheriff at his desk like that, though, that was something <em>He</em> would do. <br><br>While the information was invaluable, at this point in time, it made little difference. The hunt was still on, and the easiest way to get information Christian had learned, was to talk with those too drunk to hide it. He pushed open the bat-wing doors of the Casino Morongo, a place he had heard all manner of information could be found. He sauntered up to the bar and tapped the counter, ordering a beer. Once delivered, he turned on his stool and looked over those sitting in the Casino at this time of the morning. It was likely desolate, but it was of little consequence. Those still there would be the ones that Christian wanted to talk to anyway. Hopefully, the owner would be available. He or she would be the most likely to know what Christian wanted to know: where the hell was the Man In Black.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kuroneko</strong> on <strong>17-03-2013, 05:03:27</strong>
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				&nbsp; <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 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Christian, Open <br><hr><br>It took only a few minutes to cross the square amid the mumbling questions surrounding the mayor’s announcement.&nbsp; For the average Gomorran, the shift between sheriffs would have little effect on their day to day activities; but Sloane knew the full implications of the shift. It was something to consider and discuss with his people – once he’d gotten some shut eye. Reaching the Morongo, his boots scraped along the wooden planking as he walked up the stairs and across the walkway, heavy steps taking him through the casino’s doors and into the main room.<br><br>At this hour, the crowd was thin.&nbsp; The morning crew was currently taking care of the lodgers who came down for breakfast, as well as the hangers on from the previous evening who just couldn’t walk away from the tables, though only a handful of them were open at this time of day.&nbsp; Some people were determined to lose their money at any hour of the day, and Sloane was more than happy to take it.&nbsp; <br><br>Sloane stood for a moment and admired the efficiency of his staff, which functioned like a well-oiled machine.&nbsp; The smell of cooking bacon and eggs filled the air, along with the scent of strong coffee as the day began, and he decided that one more shot of whiskey was just the thing to make sure he slept for a few hours.&nbsp; Crossing to the bar, he bent down to retrieve one of the bottles of the good stuff and began to pour himself a shot.<br><br>“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sloane said, as he spotted the man sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a beer.&nbsp; Though he’d never met the notorious gunslinger perched on one of his barstools, he’d certainly read enough about his exploits, full of finely executed drawings of the man’s chiseled countenance to recognized him with a fair amount of certainty.&nbsp; Whatever had brought him to Gomorra, it couldn’t be good; but it was certain to be profitable.<br><br>“Christian Specter,” Sloane said in a voice loud enough to carry the few feet to where the man was sitting, as he set the bottle down on the bar.&nbsp; “What brings you to Gomorra, ass end of the world, and to the Morongo, finest casino in the west?”&nbsp; <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>17-03-2013, 21:27:34</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian Specter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Deacon Sloane, Open<br><hr><br><em>Rumor’s gotta be true, Man In Black’s gotta be here.</em> Christian thought to himself, his heart beginning to race and a bit of a sweat breaking out on him from the exhilaration and fear that clutched at him. He had never been this close to his quarry, and there was no chance in hell he was going to let him get away. <em>Who else would’ve murdered the poor Sheriff? Don’t make no sense. Sheriff obviously had dealin’s with the man who killed’m, or it woulda been more of a contest. That’s how the bastard works though, worms him way in before blowin’ everything to hell like a god-damn ghostrock boiler.</em><br><br>“Christian Specter,” called a voice from down the bar, and Christian slowly turned his head towards the source, giving Sloane a sideways glance. Christian had become used to this, and it more often than not turned deadly a few minutes later. A lot of men were insane enough to think drawing iron on a man widely considered one of the fastest draws still breathing was a good idea. All of those men were six-feet under.<br><br>Through that stern glare he was able to take in the man’s countenance. He was proud, perhaps a bit arrogant, but not crazy. This one wanted something from Christian, that much was obvious, but he did not want Spooky to test his draw speed. No, what this man wanted was likely to be far more subtle and leagues more dangerous.<br><br>“What brings you to Gomorra, ass end of the world, and to the Morongo, finest casino in the west?” the man continued, and then Christian knew who he was speaking to. The man beside him had to be the proprietor of this establishment. Tales of the Morongo had hit Christian before he reached town, known for its fine gaming and fair rules, well as fair as it got in a Casino, where the House held every advantage. This man was the House.<br><br>Christian turned on his stool, one hand dropping to his side languidly, just brushing past his holster. He was not drawing the gun, but the act was normally enough to frighten most men and women away from bothering him. When the man before him did not move, which he likely would not, Christian would tip his hat with his other hand then gestured towards the town square, “Huntin’ a Sheriff-killer, I suppose. Regardless of yer muckrakers claimin’ it to be Black Jack, it sure as hell aint. The man I’m trackin’ down, he has a gaunt face, wears all black, never gives his name, or gives one you can trust as far as you can throw a steer. You seen’m?”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kuroneko</strong> on <strong>18-03-2013, 03:43:56</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 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Christian, Open <br><hr><br>Specter turned towards him slowly, flashing Sloane what could only be called a professional glare.&nbsp; Sloane knew it well.&nbsp; After all, he’d spent several years wearing the same practiced glower, if not to the same degree or effect.&nbsp; It was impressive, he’d give Specter that; but Sloane was not intimidated by the gunslinger’s hard expression or the way his hand brushed against the Peacemaker hanging from his hip as he turned to face the Morongo’s proprietor.&nbsp; He stood his ground, shot of whiskey in hand as he met Specter’s stare, and waited for the man to answer his question.&nbsp; &nbsp;Turned out that his hand managed to lift his hat in a gesture of politeness before he spoke.&nbsp; <br><br>“Well, ain’t that a coincidence,” Sloane drawled, raising the glass to his lips and tossing the shot back. “We just happen to have a sheriff that got himself killed.” As Specter continued to speak, describing the man that he was looking for, Sloane calmly poured himself another shot, corking the bottle again before he replied.<br><br>“Maybe. Could you be a bit more specific?” he asked, lifting the glass and gesturing broadly with it to take in the entire room.&nbsp; “That description could fit half the town’s male population, including the senior deputy.”&nbsp; The second glass of whiskey went down as smooth as the first, and he set the glass back down on the bar next to the bottle.&nbsp; Subtly, Sloane’s eyes caught movement at the upstairs railing, noting Yanko watching the proceedings between the newcomer and his boss with increasing interest.&nbsp; He blinked twice to signal the man to hang fire, but stay alert.&nbsp; <br><br>“Sounds like you’ve been looking for this man for a while,” Sloane remarked, returning his attention to Specter.&nbsp; “You got a reason for thinking he isn’t Black Jack?&nbsp; Or is that confidential information?”&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>18-03-2013, 23:35:19</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian Specter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Deacon Sloane, Open<br><hr><br><br>While he had shown the businessman a modicum of politeness by tipping his hat, Christian never released that glare, it was almost as if he did not even blink. He took his time answering Sloane’s questions, for a number of reasons. The first of which, was that he actually did not know any more about the Man In Black than what he had already stated. It was embarrassing, but all he knew was that the man had to be getting on in age, always wore black, and had a gaunt look to him. Despite hunting him for almost twelve years, he had no more information than that. The other reason he remained quiet for so long was because Christian liked to chew on his words before he spat them out. People tended to die when he was impulsive, so to keep things peaceful, he thought it best to think about his response before speaking.<br><br>“Aint no secret, just common sense. Black Jack is a bit of a celebrity ‘round these parts. Stories and rumors about’m aint hard ta come by,” Christian began, pausing there to take a swig of his beer, “It aint his way to just gun a man down in his office, be it the Sheriff or not. The Sheriff went down easy, too. If I was the law ‘round these parts, I know I’d not so much as shit without a loaded iron in my hand. Sheriff knew his killer, might’ve even been friendly with’m, that’s a certainty. What I hear, there was two blasts from that shotgun; fifty dollars says those blasts were point-blank, too.”<br><br>Christian nodded at this own thought, seeming to confirm to himself his own rationality of the situation. It made sense, of course, that the Man In Black would come in, rile up a whole heap of trouble and leave shortly after. That was, unless the Man had found good, steady work here. That was the thing Christian found so damn frustrating was He kept running around, never staying put for long, which meant Christian could not stay put for long. Here, though, it looked like he had finally caught up to the bastard.<br><br>“Nice place you got here,” Christian said, his voice remained gravelly and irritated though it was hard to tell if he actually was irritated or it was just the way he always sounded, “How long’t take ya ta situate yerself up like this?” Christian was entirely unsubtle on his changing of the subject, but that ever-present glare warned against trying to go backwards in conversation.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kuroneko</strong> on <strong>20-03-2013, 03:37:36</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 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Christian, Open <br><hr><br>“Ya don’t say,” Sloane drawled as Specter drank his beer, unimpressed by the man’s reasoning concerning Black Jack, though his expression remained the same, carefully neutral.&nbsp; Sloane was sure that if the notorious outlaw had a grudge against their former sheriff he’d be happy to kill him any way he could, contrary to rumors and reputation or not.&nbsp; He was far more interested in the gunslinger’s theories about the way that Coleman died.&nbsp; There had been precious little information given out at the Mayor’s excuse for a public announcement, and he was curious about Specter’s apparent certainty and how in the hell he knew.&nbsp; <br><br>“Izzat so?” Sloane replied, feigning a level of disinterest he didn’t exactly feel.&nbsp; He’d need to scrounge around for more information on the details of Coleman’s death, and soon, before rumor and innuendo ran roughshod over facts until the truth was completely obscured.<br><br>“Yes, it is,” Sloane agreed seamlessly, glancing briefly around the Morongo’s fine interior, never missing a beat as Specter changed the subject.&nbsp; “Long enough,” he replied, bypassing a true answer and substituting an oblique one in its place, meeting the gunslinger’s glare with an equally hard look.&nbsp; <br><br>“You looking for a room or other entertainment while you’re in town, Specter?” Sloane asked, hands resting lightly on the bar.&nbsp; “Or are you just here on business?”&nbsp; <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Muse</strong> on <strong>20-03-2013, 12:45:53</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://[url=http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a2/9439_1213355092507_500_196.jpg]http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a2/9439_1213355092507_500_196.jpg[/url])</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Mathew Cuthbert<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; None yet.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1376<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Deacon Sloane, Chrstian Specter, Agatha Dunwich, Anyone.&nbsp; <br><hr><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;You could tell Mathew Cuthbert was napping because his hands were still.&nbsp; The young blond slouched back in chair by the bar, a cigar smoking slowly in his teeth, with his white hat tipped down to shade his eyes.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;When the conversation between the casino’s owner and the notorious gunslinger began, the young man’s eyes half opened and he took a slow look at the bounty hunter.&nbsp; “Christian Specter, eh?” he inquired, straightening up a little and tipping back his hat.&nbsp; “I figured you must be a lucky fella when I bet myself I could join Miss Dunwich for breakfast and found you already there.&nbsp; Dollars ain’t half the treasure that a good woman’s cookin’ is, but maybe sometime we can square off across the card table and see how long your luck holds?&nbsp; Whata’ya say,” the young man pulled some cards from his breast pocket and shot them from one hand to the next.&nbsp; “One of us’ll loose some money, but from what I hear most people who square off with you loose some blood, so I like this game better.”&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The town crier had roused Mat at the crack of dawn, an ungodly hour he’d hoped to never see again now that he’d left the ranch behind him.&nbsp; He’d dressed quickly and done without a bite here in hopes of bidding Miss Agatha a good morning, maybe catching her half dressed in her workshop to talk about her latest infernal contraption or tease her with stories about the girls in the saloon halls.&nbsp; Most men would have serious pride issues, knowing that&nbsp; one of their favorite girls would rather be with one of his other girls than with him.&nbsp; But what the hell? She was pretty and intelligent, interesting and sweet.&nbsp; When the mood took her she was just as good in bed as any other girl, and he certainly would rather have a friend with privileges than another lovestruck girl trying to settle him down.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Besides, some day he was going to get a chance to watch her with antoher girl.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So, he’d missed a shot at breakfast, and headed straight to the town hall.&nbsp; He kept his quite and listened to the somber news.&nbsp; It angered him enough to keep him awake, knowing what that deputy girl was going through, what some of this towns other fine girls might be going through, and he almost stepped up to volunteer for a posse before his common sense got the better of him.&nbsp; Mat wasn’t yeller, but he weren’t no fool either.&nbsp; Once people found out you were dangerous, really dangerous, like this Christian fellow, you became a legend, and everyone wanted to put a bullet in a legend.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He turned to his host and tipped his hat, Good mornin’, Mr. Sloan.&nbsp; When do you recon buisness’ll pick up again?&nbsp; Folks can get a might nervous in times like these, and nervous folks can really use a good time, if you catch ‘em at the right moment.”&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;What he left unsaid was that, when nervous folks finally gave into their impulse to have a good time, money could flow through their fingers like water.&nbsp; <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>21-03-2013, 06:30:13</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian "Spooky" Specter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Deacon Sloane, Mathew Cuthbert<br><hr>Sloane raised an excellent question, why was Christian here? When he had first set out, Gomorra was a stop of convenience. Rumors told him that the Man In Black may very well be there, and he had no firmer evidence to go on, so he had set off. It had nothing to do with seeing Agatha again, or at least that is what he told himself. Truth was, he might have stuck around while just to be near her again.<br><br>“I’m stayin’ with Ms. Dunwich on the outer part o’town.&nbsp; Known’re a long time, figure we could catch up a bit. As far as my business in town, I done told ya, huntin’ yer Sheriff killer: The Man In Black. As you may know, I specialize in killin’ men aint got sense, and it seems the man that killed yer Sheriff don’t have no sense. Course, that don’t pay real well, so I may be lookin’ fer some work too. Guns like me don’t come cheap though. Know why? Cause there aint any other guns like me,” he patted his Peacemaker at his side, “or Reaper here.”<br><br>Christian took a moment to spit into the spittoon, emptying his mouth of a bit of his chewing tobacco. That was when a young, blond haired fella took the chance to speak with Christian. He finished talking and Christian almost rolled his eyes. This was what he was used to, somebody openly challenging him to something. “Listen, kid, playin’ cards with me can get expensive. I aint a fan of cheats, and a man that beats me too bad’s gotta be cheatin’.&nbsp; So, I’ll happily play a bit of cards with ya, but keep that in mind, lotta graves been dug for a lotta men that cheated me at cards.&nbsp; As far as Ms. Dunwich and I is concerned, that’d be our business. For yer safety, I suggest you keep a clear distance betwixed the two of ya, especially while I’m in town.”<br><br>The stare that Christian gave Mathew was one he had given many men in his time. Normally, it was in the dusty street, sun high overhead, and a church bell striking noon. Shortly after, that man usually fell dead and Christian followed that up with another bullet to the throat after he walked up and watched the man die. Spooky earned his monicker. <br><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kuroneko</strong> on <strong>22-03-2013, 04:38:13</strong>
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				&nbsp;<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 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Christian, Open <br><hr><br>Sloane listened to Specter go on about Agatha and then make his point about what his business was for the second time with a deadpan expression, thinking the boy wasn’t half as smart as he was an expert gunslinger. If it wasn’t for the fact that a reputation like that had to be earned, he might even have wondered if Specter was all he claimed to be.&nbsp; The rhetorical question about his skill, followed just as quickly by a boastful answer nearly had Sloane rolling his eyes.&nbsp; <br><br>“Well, thank you kindly for setting me straight on what brought you to our fine city Mr. Specter, but the truth of the matter is, I didn’t <em>ask </em> you what your business was in town,” he drawled.&nbsp; “For in point of fact you had indeed already <em>told </em> me, and I make it a point to listen to my customers.&nbsp; What I <em>did </em> ask you is whether or not you might be looking for a room or other entertainment during your stay, while you do your best to locate this mysterious man in black that you don’t know anything else about beyond his weight and the color of his clothes.&nbsp; But, if you’re looking for work, I often find myself in need of a good gunhand, regardless of whether he’s named his gun or not.&nbsp; So, maybe we can do a little business.”&nbsp; <br><br>Thankfully, Cuthbert chose that moment to rouse himself from his carefully composed nap to address the gunslinger himself, engaging in a little verbal posturing with Specter over a favorite pastime – cards.&nbsp; Sloane watched the back and forth with a casual interest.&nbsp; After all, a game between the two of them here meant the house would get a cut, and that was never bad.&nbsp; His attention became far keener the moment Agatha’s name came up again, this time from Specter, followed quickly a warning for Cuthbert that the gunslinger growled out along with turning a mean glare on one of the Morongo’s best customers.&nbsp; <br><br>“I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from threatening my patrons, Mr. Specter,” Sloane said, in a tone that suggested he’d brook no argument as he poured himself a third drink.&nbsp; "I take blood letting on my premises that I ain't approved as a personal fucking affront.&nbsp; It puts me off my whiskey."&nbsp; He then turned his attention to Cuthbert.&nbsp; “Don’t you worry, Matthew.&nbsp; The night shift’ll be out in Sweetrock any time now, and the miners’ll be in with plenty of ghostrock burning a hole in their pockets and their cocks at the ready.”&nbsp; He then glanced between the two men.&nbsp; <br><br>“But if you’re both dead set on arguing over a woman that would rather spend time tinkering in her workshop than anything else,” Sloane continued, expression hardening slightly as he issued a warning of his own, “Then take it outside.” Lifting his glass in an impromptu toast, he tossed the shot back and set the glass back down on the bar.&nbsp; <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>24-03-2013, 00:26:02</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0e/Ginny_Avatar.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia 'Ginny' Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Matthew Cuthbert, Christian "Spooky" Specter, Deacon Sloane, Open<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Ginny actually had been there from the beginning.&nbsp; Just minding her own business at her table as usual.&nbsp; Things were a touch slow since most folks were still getting rolling before gambling, but the young Whateley was fine with it.&nbsp; Business was always good at Casino Morongo; while she enjoyed making rounds around the saloons to heard the latest gossip, it was the Casino where fortunes were made and lost.&nbsp; Of course, Ginny already had a fortune, she simply was someone who was in for the thrill of things more than anything else.&nbsp; She had just gotten back with a visit from her Grandma and she already missed the kindly older woman.&nbsp; That woman still had the best sweet tea on this side of the Maze and she pined and hoped that there would be some crisp, tart, lemon squares to accompany it the next time.&nbsp; But it would have been rude to tell her Grandma that directly so the blonde gambler had simply batted her eyelashes doubly and hoped that it had been enough of a signal to go by.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; To amuse herself since there weren't any takers early in the morning, the young Whateley was practicing flipping the cards out onto the table as crisply as possible.&nbsp; Aiming just to use enough force to them spinning in a full circle before they would land face-up at the imaginary person who would want them.&nbsp; All the late-nighters were wrapping up their games and normally, Ginny kept somewhat decent hours.&nbsp; In her mind, she liked it earlier when people were so addled with drink.&nbsp; Too much drink made people do stupid things.&nbsp; And neither her nor Mr. Sloane liked stupid people.&nbsp; Though Mr. Sloane had a way to taking care of things so that people were never stupid <em>twice</em>.<br><br><strong><em>Flick.&nbsp; Flick.&nbsp; Flick.&nbsp; Flick. Flick.</em></strong><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;A person got the idea pretty quick.&nbsp; A small frown came to her features somewhere in her fourteenth and nineteen card when one of them landed a little crooked, bent enough that it ruined the straight edges of the growing pile.&nbsp; With a silent huff, she poured herself a shot of whiskey and tipped it back before gathering all the cards, shuffling them in a lightning-fast fashion and beginning her little game of skill again.&nbsp; Competing with no one except herself and whatever demons that drove her to do such a thing.&nbsp; Though it was probably the demon of sheer boredom in this cause along with the old adage - <em>idle hands made for the Devil's work.</em>&nbsp; Though Ginny would have protested and noted that her hands were plenty busy, missing, of course, the whole moral of that little saying in that charming way that had a person wondering if it was some deliberate choice on her part.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;But that's when things got interesting on their own.&nbsp; The young Whateley's hands slowed, and then stopped, at the entrance of a towering man, along with a battered black duster, that was like the billowing cape of the Grim Reaper himself.&nbsp; And the whole Casino got quiet for an instant.&nbsp; <em>'It's Spooky.'&nbsp; 'That's Spooky.'&nbsp; <strong>'The</strong> Spooky?'</em>&nbsp; The murmured whispered reached Ginny's ears though she had to strain a bit to catch them all as a grim tension began to build in Casino Morongo.&nbsp; After all, it was ever good news when one of the iconic figures of the West, a man who had killed so many, his pistol was known as the Reaper showed up at your door.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And who else but to intercept him than Mr. Sloane, the owner of Casino Morongo?&nbsp; Ginny would have bet her entire savings and that was a pretty pile that the weathered older man had stared down Death more than once or twice in his lifetime.&nbsp; And rumors were that Death had blinked in the end against Sloane.&nbsp; It was hard to find someone who wasn't more feared in Gomorra.&nbsp; Of course, if you were polite, paid on time, and were just looking for a good time, you had nothing to fear from Sloane.&nbsp; If not...<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Well, there were rumors.&nbsp; And none of them were pretty.&nbsp; In fact, the best one Ginny heard was that Sloane himself would personally sever your fingers and your toes to feed them to some mythical pet he kept before he simply slit your throat.&nbsp; Outlandish and most likely false, there were was a looming aura that never made you feel too confident about calling that bluff.&nbsp; After all, if you were ever wrong, then you'd best kiss that dear sweetheart of yours a precious good-bye.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; And that tension grew even more as the two men squared off and Ginny took silently noted of the hired guns forming up, ready to back their boss if anything should go down.&nbsp; Ironically, that tension was becoming something akin to a wild excitement, the desire to see some bloodshed already.&nbsp; Itchy fingers and all that.&nbsp; These were the types of stories you'd tell your children one day!&nbsp; &nbsp;Assuming you'd live to have children, of course.&nbsp; <em><strong>'Oh, I was there, hiding behind the poker table, quivering like a yellow-bellied coward and praying to sweet Jesus that if He got me through this, Lord have mercy, I'd be a church-going man the rest of my life!'</strong></em><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Well, hopefully the speaker would have a better story than that.&nbsp; And just when it seemed it couldn't get any more tense...<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;A young dapper man, fresh with a pretty boy look broke in.&nbsp; Him, Ginny had been hearing rumors about.&nbsp; Matthew Cuthbert, a gambler with luck so good that even the devil himself couldn't cheat him at dice.&nbsp; He looked like a bit of a dandy in his fine suit, but Ginny had to admit that he had enough to a woman's heart go pitter-patter.&nbsp; Though rumors were that he was even better than she was than when it came to cards.&nbsp; Not that she really minded, but&nbsp; she was curious to see if that were true or not.&nbsp; He'd been circling the Casino Morongo for a while now, steadily working his way up though he hadn't stopped by her table yet.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Perhaps ironically, but his introduction into the mix broke a bit of the tension when he called the infamous Spooky to a game of cards.&nbsp; He definitely didn't look like he belonged in the silent face-off and served as a way to defuse the serious scene that had formed.&nbsp; After all, else one of the two men actually shot the gambler, no bullets were going to be fired at the very least.&nbsp; Though Spooky's growl didn't seem overly promising and Mr. Sloane didn't seem to be doing much to lessen tension either.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;So, of course, it would take a woman's touch to smooth all the feathers.&nbsp; And not just any old gal, but one who knew a bit of southern charm.&nbsp; "Now, now, boys..."&nbsp; Ginny started, her drawl interrupting them all, and drawing their gazes to her.&nbsp; It was possibly offensive, but she gave her sweetest smile, so sweet that a man could feel his teeth begin to ache.&nbsp; <strong>"If s'tah card game yuh want, why not come tah my table?&nbsp; Ah always welcome fresh blood."</strong>&nbsp; A direct, challenging stare was given to Matthew Cuthbert at that.&nbsp; Signaling to the patrons around and shifting the attention away from a potential gunfight into a fated card showdown that had been brewing for the past two months or so ever since the blonde fellow had entered into Gomorra seeking to make his fortune.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"And...uh...Mr. Spooky,"</strong>&nbsp; Ginny did stumble there a bit, not exactly how to address the infamous gunman, but hiding it with the professional aplomb of the most practiced politician.&nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Ah kin assure yuh a fair game.&nbsp; Thar'll be no cheaters at my table.&nbsp; Ah dun tolerate no cheatin'."</strong>&nbsp; Those Whateleys eyes flashed a hint of green fire at that.&nbsp; That much at least was true.&nbsp; Ginny didn't believe in cheating to win...at cards at the very least.&nbsp; The jury was still out on other things.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Leaning forward slightly, she tipped her Stenson in a show of deference. <strong> "Fer such a famous and distinguished man such as yer self, ah'm willing to offer a twenty dollar credit.&nbsp; If yer interested, o'course."</strong>&nbsp; This way, it would hopefully keep the gunman from drawing and all hell breaking loose if things should go south in a couple of hands.&nbsp; Knowing that he'd be very suspicious of any type of trickery, Ginny was playing things completely clean and with the intent to get in his good graces.&nbsp; After all, it wouldn't be a bad thing if it was know that Virigina Mary Lou Whateley was good friends with Spooky.&nbsp; That might give the next fella who wanted to cause the blonde any problems a second thought they played at her table.&nbsp; Though normally, Mr. Sloane took care of those people right away.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Though admittedly, she wouldn't want that topic to come when she got ready to receive mass at St. Martin's Chapel on Sundays.&nbsp; But she was confident that she could handle that when it came.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Ah read sum of yer stories back from whar ah was from growin' up,"</strong> was a way of her explanation as to why she was being so generous to a complete and perhaps very dangerous stranger.&nbsp; And that much was true.&nbsp; Admittedly, given how young she was, growing up had only happened a year or three ago.&nbsp; Ginny had adored the dime novels, much to the dismay of her private tutors who attempted to fill her head with knowledge of British literature and theater.&nbsp; Only to discover the young Whateley had an appetite for outrageous classics like <em>'Spooky and the Flame-haired Vixen Against the Mad Preacher's Posse'</em>.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pumpkin Seeds</strong> on <strong>24-03-2013, 00:52:39</strong>
			</dt>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://questionablefuture.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/lucy-liu.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Jia Li<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Mr. Lee<br><hr><br>Opium stunk to her nose and was rotten to her eyes.&nbsp; The scent of desperation was heavy in the air and to her eyes the scene of slavery played out among her people.&nbsp; More disappointingly to Jia Li was that this routine was conducted by her own people to her own.&nbsp; Proud, ancient and noble her people deserved better than what she saw at the Den of Eastern Delights.&nbsp; Yet her place now was not to cast this institution down but rather to provide a simple service.&nbsp; The good fight could not be won on an empty stomach and with no weapons in hand to wage that fight.&nbsp; So she swallowed down her native born pride to make her hurried steps toward the back door of this landscape of rot.&nbsp; A quick knock was given by her hand to the door.<br><br>Against her back was slung the dry cleaning of the women working here.&nbsp; Jia Li used the term working very loosely since she doubted even the women would call this working.&nbsp; Few had any sense of what day this was much less which position they were in or what man was atop them.&nbsp; A couple of miners could be heard grunting and laughing from the front which simply made her skin crawl.&nbsp; One hand moved to touch her body as if assuring herself that no bugs crawled on her clothes and no person was laying hands on her.&nbsp; The smooth silk of her clothing was an improvement over the rugged cotton she had worn earlier.&nbsp; At Fu Leng’s the owner did not see the use of wearing dirty clothes to deliver clean ones.&nbsp; So the white top and pants were far more traditional and crafted of actual silk.&nbsp; Printed flowers of light blue and yellow lay across her body though even a bit of dirt clung to her now.&nbsp; Jia Li had an innate ability to get dirty no matter the setting.&nbsp; Even her features were clean now as the lady had scrubbed her face before she went out.&nbsp; Not many would guess that what they had mistaken for dirt were actually freckles.<br><br>Patiently now she waited with clothes in hand, a pile of what seemed to be receipts pinned to them, for Lee to answer his summons.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>26-03-2013, 02:37:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian "Spooky" Specter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Matthew Cuthbert, Ginny Whateley, Deacon Sloane, Open<br><hr><br>The silence that followed Ginny and Sloane's intervention in what they saw as a brewing altercation between Christian and Mathew was filled with tension so thick, a butter knife could have taken pieces out of it. Christian's eyes dead locked with Sloane's. Sloane may have stared down death, and gotten the Pale Rider to blink, he was having likely an equal match against Christian. Christian thought back to a moment in time back at a little town called Deer Creek, and his eyes flashed with amusement for a moment. Then the infamous killer, purported fastest-draw in the Maze tipped his hat to the businessman again. It was unclear whether Spooky was submitting to the dreaded merchant, or if he just did not feel like killing this morning. The collective sigh of the few other patrons of the Casino at this hour bespoke they all were relieved to see it regardless.<br><br>"Words aint always my friends, mister, as it can be clear ta see," Christian gave Sloane the barest of smiles, his expression of bared teeth constantly crossing the line between surly temperament, and cornered wolf, "But, I don't threaten men, I gun'm down. Tell ya what, you need a man like me, let me know. Fer the right price, I'll happily bear Reaper on whoever ya like."<br><br>Then Ginny spoke, and Christian slightly inclined his head her way. He let her speak on her game, her dislike of cheats, and her apparent adoration or interest in his activities. He had always heard some idiotic muckraker had written him into one of those damn dime novels, but Spooky never bothered to investigate it as he did not see the point. The point, apparently, was it got you fans. Fans of the tall, blonde, and gorgeous variety. Christian cursed himself a fool, and moseyed on over to Ginny's table, and flopped into a seat.<br><br>"Now, ma'am, I gotta warn ya," Christian spoke while glancing between her eyes and her waist, checking for weapons, he was a fool for blondes, but even that had a limit, "my skill with cards is only slightly better than my skill with words, so I'm not likely to be much of a challenge to a shark such as yerself." His words were not hollow flattery, at least that much was apparent on the gunman's face, despite the lack of any real hint at emotion. Joy, anger, lust, nor sullenness showed on the man's face, just that cold, hard stare that put ice in most men's stomach. That stare made it very clear where he had garnered that notorious nickname of his. Spooky was one nerve wracking son of a bitch, even when he was not trying to be.<br><br>Without turning his way, he used a hand to motion for Mathew to make his way over. A subtle, albeit halfhearted, attempt to bring the uncomfortable, for others anyway, tension down a few notches. Then his voice carried over to Sloane, "You too, Mr. Businessman, I'd like ta get ta know a man that'd stare me down, e'en though he knows who I am, and what I do. Gotta respect a man who knows Death when'e sees'm, and then don't back down."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Muse</strong> on <strong>26-03-2013, 04:45:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br><hr><div class="floatleft">(http://[url=http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a2/9439_1213355092507_500_196.jpg]http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a2/9439_1213355092507_500_196.jpg[/url])</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Mathew Cuthbert<br><strong>Faction:</strong><br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning <br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Christian Specter, Deacon Sloane, Virginia Whately, Open<br><hr><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Mat bristled at the unprovoked aggression, particularly the accusation of cheating.&nbsp; He hesitated from responding immediately, both because he wasn’t the sort to end peoples’ lives over petty insults, but also because the man really did have a stare that could turn boiling water to ice.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;After a moment, he found himself laughing.&nbsp; “I’ll give you this, Mr. Specter, you sure know how to make a man’s blood run cold.&nbsp; Let’s play some poker.”&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He stood up and crossed to the blonde’s table, packing away the cards he’d been toying with.&nbsp; He took off his hat and bowed to the beautiful woman, then left it at his side, “You must be Miss Whatley.&nbsp; I’ve been looking forwards to a chance to meet you across the table.”&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>26-03-2013, 07:28:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Jia Li<br><hr>Lilah strode down the street, wary and alert, her hands jammed in her pockets as she felt naked without her gun. She'd left the Colt with her gear on her horse, not wanting to antagonize anyway, though she still wore her knife on her belt. A knife was another matter as folks had lots of uses for those that didn't bring harm to no one and she had to have something or she'd feel like a cat without claws. She'd taken great pains to clean up, carefully brush her hair out, and wear the best shirt she had as she took representing Jack dead serious and wanted to reflect well on him. It was a part of town she generally avoided as despite her appearance it was as alien to her, not only the words but the language of the crowd she passed through was incomprehensible to her. The Chinese immigrants were so different from what she knew she found them hard to read and reading folks had been one of the main reasons she'd survived in those years before Jack so it felt like having one of her senses gone not being able to anticipate the reactions of those around. There had never really been any incentive to learn their ways when the only thing that was clear is that she was just as unwelcome with them as she was with the whites.<br><br>The Den of Earthly Delights. Lilah couldn't read the words but she'd had the sign described to her and knew she was in the wrong place but hesitated on the street, feeling reluctant to enter the whorehouse to the devil knew what kind of reception. As she drew closer there was a smell coming from the place that set her teeth on edge and she moved a bit to get a better vantage point, maybe to watch a few coming and goings before she went in when she saw a slight figure move around to the back of the building. Thinking maybe she had an option to walking in the front door with the clients Lilah quickly followed, hoping the young woman was some kind of worker who could let her in the back way. Lilah slowed as she approached, a slight figure herself but still standing inches above the other woman.<br><br>"'scuse me, miss, but do y'work here?" Lilah asked. She had no reason to believe the girl could speak English, judging by appearance she was as Chinese as you could get, but Lilah had to try. Lilah didn't speak to her too loud and too slow like folks did to her either the woman would understand her or she wouldn't. "I need to see Mr. Lee on some business. Do you know Mr. Lee? It's got nothin' t'do with Whorin' so I'd rather not walk in th'front."<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Love And Submission</strong> on <strong>26-03-2013, 23:55:23</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> Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Den Of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Li-Li&nbsp; / Open <br><hr><br><br><br>There were days where Mycroft's complex mind felt like more of a hindrance than a gift and today was shaping up to be one of those days. While he had started the day feverishly interested of Sheriff he had grown bored with it. It was just another murder in a town full of them. It was a case , not a mystery and Ezekiel had left London for mysteries. Alas even in a town full of sinners , Mycroft mind found tedium. Then again that's what he was famous for wasn't it? Finding the little threads that held world together.&nbsp; Despite his exquisite dress&nbsp; , he glided through the town unopposed. It wasn't out of fear of his pistols but more out of fear of the unpredictably painted so vividly across his&nbsp; polished face. Without a mystery to focus on , Mycroft's mind shifted from sight to sight as he strolled through Gommora. The only thought of note to Ezekiel at the moment however was one he'd be shy to admit . He knew as well as everyone that the town was a den of vice and sin but in all honesty he had seen very little of it. Oh sure he'd seen&nbsp; more then his fair share of murders , that was his occupation after all but the more banal crimes eluded him.&nbsp; Of course due the local xenophobe , the area of town with the worst reputation was Chinatown.&nbsp; From his time in Scotland Yard , he knew that&nbsp; it wasn't nearly as lawless as the bigots had claimed it was but he also knew it was probably a good place to find a whore or opium den.&nbsp; The young detective carelessly slid through the town , it was clear from his fluid movements that he&nbsp; was&nbsp; &nbsp;prodigiously&nbsp; knowledgeable about the town itself. He&nbsp; transverses the back alleys with ease and stuck to them to avoid the general populace.&nbsp; It wasn't&nbsp; a matter of keeping up appearances&nbsp; &nbsp;, he just preferred his privacy. Having only&nbsp; heard rumors about this area of town , he choose&nbsp; a random&nbsp; pleasure palace to peruse. <strong>The Den Of Eastern Delights.</strong>&nbsp; How nondescript and low-key he thought to himself as he glanced to the sign on the outside. Interestingly enough , Ezekiel didn't feel anymore out of place in Chinatown then he did in the rest of Gommora. Then&nbsp; again he never felt at home anywhere either. Not even&nbsp; at 4 Whitehall place. Then again that place was filled with just as much as&nbsp; malevolence and vile as Gommora. It was only hidden better. That was one of the few things he truly admired about this place. It was evil but open about it and even a man like him had to respect that.<br><br><br>As his hands hand fidgeted slightly nervously in his pockets , he noticed a strange woman watching the place. Despite appearing to be Chinese like the rest of the population in this part time , she seemed nervous about being here. Perhaps this was&nbsp; her first time here or something , Mycroft didn't really know but she intrigued him. He stood there casually watching her. He wondered what her next move was but attempt to hide that by looking down at the ground."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>28-03-2013, 03:33:40</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; &nbsp;Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Jia Li, Li-Li, Mycroft<br><hr><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d1/Mrlee.png)</div>The back door opened, and a well-kempy Asian man leaned out, looking around at the small gaggle of people who'd gathered around the rear entrance of the Den.&nbsp; While there were no prohibitions against a back door entry with the girls within the Den, there certainly seemed to be one for the Den itself.<br><br>Lee reached for the clothes from Jai Li, recognizing her face and lifting the burden and receipts from her back.&nbsp; It was only after that he took note of the others hanging around the back entrance, his mouth pursing into a small frown as he hoisted the dry cleaning.<br><br>"[Come back tomorrow, we have more dirty sheets.&nbsp; Thank you, Jai Li.*]"<br><br>“No come here!” he shouted, waving to Li-Li and Mycroft.&nbsp; “Come to front!”&nbsp; He paused, regarding Li-Li for a moment, his eyes narrowing to scrutinize her features for a moment.&nbsp; It wasn't so much the half-Oriental features as it was her manner of dress.&nbsp; She wasn't dressed like most of the Orientals who'd come to Gomorra by way of Shan Fan; she dressed like a westerner, and for that he was certain he would have known her face if he'd seen it before.&nbsp; His gaze held more curiosity than suspicion, but that suspicion quickly returned when he saw Mycroft standing narby.<br><br>“Front door!” he said again.&nbsp; “Law Dog want pussy, he pay double.”<br><br>Jai Li had spoken enough to Mr. Lee to know just how feigned his accent was – when he cared to, he spoke English better than most in the West, with a vague trace of a British accent and nigh-perfect diction.&nbsp; But his affection of the pidgin English most of the Chinese immigrants spoke was a perfect mimicry.<br><em><br>*:&nbsp; Translated from Cantonese.</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pumpkin Seeds</strong> on <strong>28-03-2013, 23:31:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://questionablefuture.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/lucy-liu.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Jia Li<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Mr. Lee<br><hr><br>A look that lacked comprehension greeted the foreign words spoken by a woman that did not look so foreign.&nbsp; Dark eyes stared almost through Li-Li as if she were attempting to study some great puzzle or piece together a riddle that had eluded her so far.&nbsp; Eyebrows drew together in a display of thoughtful consideration before she turned to look at the closed back door once more.&nbsp; Silence descended on the woman for a second or so before turning back once more to the Western dressed woman.&nbsp; The lack of comprehension was gone.&nbsp; Instead she now wore a simple smile that seemed more polite than sincere as if she felt some strange desire to impress Li-Li.&nbsp; <br><br>“Not for sale.”&nbsp; A small hand touched the chest of Jia Li as if to indicate herself.&nbsp; “Mr. Lee no talk if not for sale.&nbsp; He come, you talk for sale.”&nbsp; There was a stiff nod as if her words carried some sort of wisdom that was passed onto Li-Li from a source beyond.&nbsp; A serious expression crossed her face while she waited for Mr. Lee to open the door.<br><br>When the moment finally arrived she gave Li-Li a more sincere smile.&nbsp; A gesture of her hand indicated Mr. Lee before turning over the clothing and collection of receipts.&nbsp; Words fell from her lips in rapid succession as her familiar Cantonese came forward.<br><br><em>“She wants to talk to you about being a whore.&nbsp; She said about wanting to come in the back.”</em><br><br>A small bow was given to the figure in the door before another was given to the lady dressed in western clothing.&nbsp; “I help you sale.&nbsp; You good now.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>30-03-2013, 01:23:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Jia Li, Ezekiel, Mr. Lee<br><hr>The young woman seemed pleasant enough though Lilah found it hard to tell if she'd understood what Lilah had tried to say. Was she saying that she was not for sale too? Lilah was mulling this over when she reached back and patted a lump in her back pocket, something was balled up and crammed down in it that made it look like she had a tumor on her otherwise slender bottom. She hardly noticed the man who was watching her, figuring if there was one place to be discreet about staring at people it was outside a whorehouse, and she certainly had no call she'd be of any interest to him at all. As the door opened and the Chinaman in the suit appeared, Lilah had a brief hope that things would run smooth but it was quickly dashed by the elfin young woman who apparently thought she was being downright helpful. <br><br>"Huh?! Wait, that's not what I said!" Lilah protested, holding up her hand as if she could just slow everything down and get a word in. To make things worse, Mr. Lee had called that fella over there a law dog which complicated things a hundred percent. She was trying to keep an eye on him and get her point across to Mr. Lee and wasn't sure how good a job she was doing at either thing. She spread her arms out to give everybody a good look. "Do I look like a whore? Mr. Lee, I'm here on th'kinda business that y'don't want to be discussin' on the street. If I could just have a minute of your time I kin explain."<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kuroneko</strong> on <strong>30-03-2013, 05:12:26</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 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Christian, Matthew, Ginny, Open <br><hr><br>Whether or not Specter was aware of it – though Sloane had a feeling that little escaped a gunslinger with his reputation&nbsp; - Yanko had the man in his sights, ready to but a bullet through his head on his boss’ say so, now that things were heating up at the bar.&nbsp; Sloane had little doubt the ugly turn that eventuality would inflict upon on the day’s business, so he hoped such a thing would prove unnecessary.&nbsp; Thankfully, Specter seemed to make a decision, finally tipping his trail worn hat once again in Sloan’s direction before speaking.&nbsp; <br><br><em>"Words aint always my friends, mister, as it can be clear ta see," Christian gave Sloane the barest of smiles(snip) "But, I don't threaten men, I gun'm down. Tell ya what, you need a man like me, let me know. Fer the right price, I'll happily bear Reaper on whoever ya like." </em> <br><br>“Yes, yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” Sloane replied, unimpressed, as he poured himself another drink.&nbsp; As far as he was concerned, a man that went out of his way to make a point over and over was just bragging, or fishing for a compliment.&nbsp; Sloane preferred to let his actions speak for him and hang the consequences.&nbsp; <br><br>Thankfully, Ginny chose that moment to intervene, pulling her attention away from her fancy dealing tricks to engage Specter in a game of witty banter.&nbsp; Sloane admired the skillful way she played the gunslinger with as much finesse as she shuffled her cards, buttering him up like an Easter ham.&nbsp; He also appreciated having Specter’s attention diverted away from him for a moment.&nbsp; Helluva thing to deal with first thing in the morning when you hadn't even gotten a few hours of shut eye.&nbsp; As Ginny finally talked the gunslinger into a game at her table with Matthew, he mentally breathed a sigh of relief.&nbsp; Sleep was in sight.&nbsp; That is, until Specter summoned him to the table as well, with a wave of his hand, no less.<br><br>Catching the gesturein his peripheral vision, with his shot glass halfway to his mouth, Sloane turned his head towards Ginny’s table with an icy look, arching one eyebrow. “It’s Mr. <em>Sloane</em>,” he said, emphasizing the name, “and who you are and what you do notwithstanding Mr. Specter, <em>no one</em> orders me about in my own place as if I were a <em>dog</em>, you hear me?”&nbsp; Lifting the glass to his lips, Sloane tossed the shot back in one decisive gesture and turned the glass upside down hard on the bar.&nbsp; <br><br>“Now, would you like a blowjob while you’re playing cards, Specter?” Sloane asked, turning to face the table as he switched gears.&nbsp; “First one’s on the house.&nbsp; And don’t worry, I ain't offerin' personally.”&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>30-03-2013, 15:26:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c0/Ginny_Avatar-01.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia 'Ginny' Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Matthew Cuthbert, Christian "Spooky" Specter, Deacon Sloane, Open<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;At Spooky's words about being no match for her when it came to cards, there was a fluttering of her eyelashes at him. <strong> "Why, good'suh!&nbsp; Ah have no idea whatever yuh're speakin' about!"</strong>&nbsp; Her voice was silky smooth even as she dealt out the first row of cards, five in all to everyone gathered at the table, herself, Spooky, Cuthbert, and a few locals that enjoyed the game.&nbsp; <strong>"Ain't no sharks 'ere.&nbsp; Least none that ah kin see.&nbsp; Jist a innocent lady among you boys." </strong> She let those green eyes trace him warmly.&nbsp; <strong>"'Sides, ah think yur sellin' yurself short.&nbsp; That be a mighty mean poker face yuh got,"</strong> she commented about Spooky's expressionless face and stare.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;That much was true.&nbsp; It would be damn hard to get anything from his face.&nbsp; Though most experts could tell from other non-verbal cues besides the face when a man was bluffing or not.&nbsp; Still, Ginny had long ago learned her lesson about greed.&nbsp; People got mighty funny when you were robbing them blind of every single red cent they owned.&nbsp; And even if a man thought he could take the loss, no one in her experience had been much of a gracious loser when it came to cards.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And from Spooky's wandering gaze, he could see the Rupertus pepperbox dangling from her waist.&nbsp; A clear warning in some ways though to Spooky's experienced eye, a few things were obvious.&nbsp; One, the pistol was of a fine make, far above in quality compared to a normal gun.&nbsp; Second, it looked so polished and so new, he had to wonder if Ginny actually ever drew it out of the holster for more than to give to the local gunsmith for cleaning and maintenance.&nbsp; It seemed like such a shame to waste money on a gun like that and never use it.&nbsp; And lastly, how the young Whateley wore it across her waist told him she had little idea what she was doing if it ever came to quick-draw contest.&nbsp; Oh sure, she had it tilted in a way so her hand could easily reach it, but she hadn't taken into account her holster and how the belt might twist as she would try and free it up.&nbsp; Most likely, she'd be blown to smithereens before she managed to get it half out in a gun fight.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And at Matthew Cuthbert's introduction, Ginny's Whateley green eyes twinkled back as she flirted with him a bit.&nbsp; Sending those subtle, non-verbal cues of interest.&nbsp; After all, he was a real cute-pie and she could appreciate that. <strong> "Please.&nbsp; Ah'm jist Ginny here.&nbsp; Ain't no Miss." </strong> As she flipped him the cards, she was already taking stock of his ability.&nbsp; And her eyes widened fractionally as how easily and at the same time, guarded he snapped them up with minimal motion.&nbsp; No information to be found there. <strong> "Ah've also been hearin' stories, Mr. Cuthbert.&nbsp; So ah'm lookin' forward to a fun game with yuh."</strong>&nbsp; Her smile was sweet, but there was a definite challenge inherent.&nbsp; Already, it was obvious that she wanted to get into a few one-on-one battles with him when others folded out of a pot.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;For pride, of course. She didn't want to be giving up her reputation as one of the best hands in Gomorra so easily.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And of course, Ginny tilted her head as she plucked a stack of coins, a mixture of quarter eagles and silver dollars and slide them in Spooky's direction.&nbsp; "<strong>Thar yuh go,"</strong> she commented, spotting him the twenty dollar credit she had promised.&nbsp; Then, casually she reached in her pouch and pulled forth a few stacks of golden eagles.&nbsp; Freshly minted from the bank as she piled them high around her at the table.&nbsp; Surrounded by a fortune most people could never hope to see in a lifetime.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And as the owner, Mr. Sloane&nbsp; shot the shit with Spooky from afar, not moving from his spot at the bar counter, Ginny let out a mock gasp of shock as she raised her fingers to her mouth as if she were horrified.&nbsp; Which she wasn't.&nbsp; <strong>"Such words, Mistuh Sloane!&nbsp; Whatever will the children think?&nbsp; And my virgin ears!&nbsp; Ah'll have'tah go to confessional later today!"</strong>&nbsp; The words were said without any rancor as Ginny played up her role as an innocent damsel who was just looking to have a good time.&nbsp; Though her and Mr. Sloane, both knew that the young Whateley was anything from that.&nbsp; After all, everyone had a few skeletons in their closet that they'd like to keep buried and she was no exception in this case.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;It ran in her blood and all that.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Though to keep any sting out of her words and to keep from offending the owner of the Casino in which she had such a good reputation, Ginny pulled forth a cigar box that she had acquired with her own personal funds from the London Royal Apothecary and the lovely Lady Boyle, who was such a dear.&nbsp; It was Sloane's personal favorite.&nbsp; The H. Upmanns, of the finest make.&nbsp; And opening the box, she proffered one to Sloane's direction in a show of deference and recognition of his own status here in the Casino Morongo.&nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Now, wouldn't yuh like tah have one?&nbsp; Ah know thar yur favorite,"</strong>&nbsp; Her tone was wheeling, but she kept it very sweet and very innocent.&nbsp; It was once again subtle, a woman's way of manipulation to get a man to do what she wanted rather than outright forcing him to.&nbsp; Though Ginny wasn't foolish enough to believe she could really control Deacon Sloane.&nbsp; After all, he was literally the closest thing to God in a place like this and it did behoove little worshipers like Ginny to stay on his good side by giving a little sacrifice here and there in remembrance to him.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And who said you never learned a thing at church?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>03-04-2013, 20:31:41</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; &nbsp;Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Jia Li, Li-Li, Mycroft<br><hr><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d1/Mrlee.png)</div>Mr. Lee blinked as Jai Li explained Lilah's presence, his normal impervious mask breaking momentarily into an expression of genuine surprise.&nbsp; <br><br>"[She <em>wants</em> to be a whore?&nbsp; What is wrong with this country?]"<br><br>He shook his head in disbelief, disgust coloring his words.&nbsp; He eyed the other woman skeptically, then turned a suspicious eye towards Ezekiel.&nbsp; His features smoothed a little bit when Li-Li made clear that was not what she had said..&nbsp; After a moment to assess her, an eyebrow raising at her colorful question, he gave a small raise of his eyebrow.&nbsp; <br><br>"You have very pretty face," he observed.&nbsp; "Nice teeth."&nbsp; He seemed to consider for a long moment, a tiny flash of curiosity gleaming in his eyes at the kind of business she mentioned.&nbsp; "You come inside.&nbsp; Men pay double for you."&nbsp; He opened the bottom half-door, the dry cleaning still strung over one hand, and gestured Lilah within.&nbsp; He shot a glance up towards the retreating backside of Jia Li, waiting for Lilah to step off the street to close the doors behind her.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Love And Submission</strong> on <strong>04-04-2013, 01:32:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br><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> Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Den Of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Li-Li&nbsp; /Mr.Lee / Open <br><hr><br><br>Mycroft grimaced when Mr.Lee bluntly announced his involvement with the law dogs. For one , Mycroft didn't really see himself as a law dog. More like an associate then a vigilant hero fighting for law and honor then again the law dogs weren't exactly vigilant heroes either. He understood the suspicious look Mr.Lee gave him but found it unwarranted. Ezekiel wasn't a vice cop. He had no interest in shutting down a whorehouse. What consenting people did in their bedroom wasn't his business and it didn't particularly interest him either. What did interest him however was the young Chinese girl's claim that they had business to discuss that they couldn't do outside.&nbsp; "I would like to be her first customer , if you do not mind , Mr.Lee. I will offer you two hundred dollars for a few hours with your lovely new whore." &nbsp;Ezekiel Mycroft barked aloud as he reached into his pocket to remove the money.&nbsp; A part of him had doubt that Mr.Lee would agree with the deal but he had to take a chance. He was incredulously interested in what business the woman had with Mr.Lee.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>04-04-2013, 02:52:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian "Spooky" Specter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Matthew Cuthbert, Ginny Whateley, Deacon Sloane, Open<br><hr><br>Christian was known, for better or worse, as a hard man; stern, strict, and without any humor but the dark kind. The absolute arrogance with which Sloane spoke down to Christian caused a hush to fly across the entirety of Casino Morongo, and that stare from the Grim One himself that stretched between the two of them was once again evoked. Christian just narrowed his eyes, a patron or two would have sworn to seeing a slight twitch in his left eye. Then the notorious gunslinger smirked. <br><br>“Ya know, mister, men say I draw, fire, and skin my iron faster’n other men pull a trigger,” Christian gave the slightest glance back to Yanko inferring his meaning, “takes a serious fool, or a man of steel to talk that way ta me.” Christian harrumphed, which turned into an ice-cold chuckle. “My apologies, Mr. <em>Sloane</em>,” Christian said, bowing his head just the slightest degree, a deference of respect to the businessman, “No disrespect intended.” <br><br><strong>“Now, would you like a blowjob while you’re playing cards, Specter?”</strong> Sloane had inquired so conspicuously, with peace restored, and a very rare thing happened. Christian was taken aback. Not many men offered him a blowjob, especially a free one, and it had never happened in mixed company. Well, mixed company that did not include whores.<br><br>“I...” Christian stopped speaking for a moment, knowing he would be able to utter anything more than a single syllable. <em>What the hell kinda place did I stumble inta?</em> Christian thought to himself. Not that it bothered him, quite the opposite really. The idea intrigued him, but, some habits died hard in a man. Especially in a man that did not exactly die easy. He gave a glance to Ginny, both to gauge her reaction and perhaps catch her attention for a bit more than his legend. <br>His eyes stayed on her own as he spoke, “No thank ya, Mr. Sloane. I think I’ve got all the company I’ll be needin’ right here.” <br><br>An hour or two passed without Specter doing more than playing cards. He did not speak, did not grumble, and he barely drank. He just played his cards, and kept his hat low. While others at the table may engage in conversation, Christian remained silent. Even if others attempted to bring him into the discussion, he remained quiet, a glacial stare the only thing he gave back in return. That was until a man playing with them decided he had had enough of Ginny’s winning streak.<br><br>The miner, went by the name Sooters, or Tiny to his friends, stood up violently, throwing his chair back a foot or two as it clattered to the ground. He was snarling as he leaned across the table towards Ginny, lust and hate in his eyes. “I done thunk I had ‘nuff o’ yer cheatin’, ya low-down, whore of a goat. I think I’ll take ya out back and your Whateley cunt whatta real man’ll do to ya.” <br><br>This miner looked like what one might expect man named Tiny. He was well into six feet, possibly hitting seven, with arms as wide around as most men’s legs, and a barreled chest made from a life of swinging an pick at rock. His voice was rumbling and low, and the cords of his muscles creaked as he pressed down upon the table. His teeth were a rotten yellow, and he was missing several. A scar hung across his face, though its source was hard to determine. His clothing was filthy, and if it had not been for the sizeable ghost rock haul he had brought to the table it looked like he could barely afford to pay attention, let alone a mid-sized game of cards like what he was doing. Losing had been a painful experience for this giant of a man.<br><br>“Sit,” Christian said calmly, though his voice brooked no argument and a few might have sworn after that the temperature dropped several degrees when he talked, “down.”<br><br>Tiny turned to Christian, his snarl widened and the drunken glare he wore on his face twisted his visage until he looked even more ugly than before, if such a thing were possible. “And, who the fuck do ya…” the man paused when through his belligerence he realized who he was talking to, and nearly froze solid.<br><br>“Three things ya need ta know right now, big fella,” Christian spoke, but his eyes never left his cards, and he never even looked up to the giant. “One, ya know exactly who the fuck I am. Two, if your friend back there,” Spooky again just pointed towards a corner of the room, where a gangly man had stood unseen, his hand placed firmly on the wooden handle of his revolver, “skins that smokewagon, I’ll gun’m down, then give you a deadly case o’ lead poisonin’. Then, I’ll take yer claims, give’m to Mr. Sloane to cover the mess you two’ll make. Three, I’ll gun ya both down anyway if ya don’t sit the fuck down,” then Christian stared at the man, his eyes slightly narrowed but filled with death, “Right. Now.”<br><br>Tiny fell back into his seat so fast, and so hard, it snapped under him and he tumbled to the floor. That sent many of the patrons into an uproarious laughter at the humiliation the poor Sooters had just been put through. Christian did not so much laugh, as snort once, though his face betrayed no amusement at the poor man. Instead, he called for another round, one for himself, and one for his new friend Tiny. <br><br>“Miss,” Christian turned to Ginny again, “I reckon it was yer deal.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kuroneko</strong> on <strong>06-04-2013, 02:47:15</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 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Christian, Matthew, Ginny, Open <br><hr><br><br><br><em> “Ya know, mister, men say I draw, fire, and skin my iron faster’n other men pull a trigger,” </em> <br><br><em>Blah, blah, blah,</em> Sloane mused, as he calmly poured himself yet another shot of whiskey.&nbsp; “Ya sure do like the sound of yer own voice singing yer praises, Specter.&nbsp; Makes a man wonder if ya penned all those cheap assed novels your own self,” he said, slowly savoring the warmth of the whiskey as it burned a path down his throat.&nbsp; <br><br><em> “takes a serious fool, or a man of steel to talk that way ta me.” Christian harrumphed, which turned into an ice-cold chuckle. “My apologies, Mr. Sloane,” Christian said, bowing his head just the slightest degree, a deference of respect to the businessman, “No disrespect intended.”</em>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>“None taken.&nbsp; Now, would you like a blowjob while you’re playing cards, Specter?” Sloane asked, turning to face the table as he switched gears.&nbsp; “First one’s on the house.&nbsp; And don’t worry, I ain’t offering personally.”<br><br><em>“Such words, Mistuh Sloane!&nbsp; Whatever will the children think?&nbsp; And my virgin ears!&nbsp; Ah'll have'tah go to confessional later today!"</em><br><br>Sloane glanced around the casino with an upturned eyebrow.&nbsp; “First of all, I don’t see any children here and second, I highly doubt that anything I might say would send you running for a preacher.”&nbsp; A lawyer now, that was another matter.&nbsp; <br><br><em>“I...” </em> <br><br>Well, <em>finally</em>.&nbsp; It <em>was </em> possible for Specter to stop talking about himself, making sure that everyone knew just how goddamn good a gunslinger he was, rather than letting his reputation speak for itself.&nbsp; Sloane had thought it was nigh on impossible. And with his friendly offer hanging in the air between them, his eyebrow arched higher in anticipatory expectation as he waited for Specter to regain the use of his tongue.<br><br><em>“No thank ya, Mr. Sloane. I think I’ve got all the company I’ll be needin’ right here.”</em><br><br>Sloane shrugged.&nbsp; “Your choice.&nbsp; I won’t make the offer again.&nbsp; New customer special, only,” he explained, setting his glass down on the bar as he began to move around it, only to have Ginny try to lure him into staying with one of his favorite cigars.&nbsp; <br><br><em>"Now, wouldn't yuh like tah have one?&nbsp; Ah know thar yur favorite,"&nbsp; Her tone was wheeling, but she kept it very sweet and very innocent.</em><br><br>Turning his gaze on Ginny, Sloane’s tongue worried at the back of his teeth as he considered her offer, expression vaguely predatory; recognizing it as a manipulative attempt to wrap him around her finger by pretending to defer to him.&nbsp; Walking towards her, he closed the distance between the bar and her table on the pretense of accepting her offer, only when he reached out to take the cigar from her fingers, Sloane’s hand closed around hers as he stepped close to whisper in Ginny’s ear, words couched in a low, sultry whisper, for her hearing alone.&nbsp; <br><br>“You know better than to play these kinds of games.&nbsp; Neither one of us is that much of a fool,” Sloane warned, moustache brushing against her ear.&nbsp; “Now, if you <em>truly </em> want to tempt me, then next time offer me a cigar that’s been sweetened between your thighs.”<br><br>Eyes glued to Ginny’s face, Sloane pulled back with a sly grin, slowly withdrawing his hand from hers, leaving the cigar in place as he stepped away from the table.&nbsp; “I’ll leave you both in Miss Whately’s more than capable hands,” he said to Matthew and Christian, before heading towards the staircase that led to the upper floor.&nbsp; On the way, Sloane stopped to speak a few of the morning staff, giving his instructions for the hours he’d be sleeping before ascending to the second level, where Yanko was waiting.&nbsp; <br><br>“Who is dat?” the big man asked him, jerking his chin down at Specter.&nbsp; Sloane glanced in the man’s direction.&nbsp; <br><br>“Just a man too caught up in his own myth for his own good,” he replied.&nbsp; “Best keep an eye on him.&nbsp; Wake me a couple hours.”&nbsp; <br><br>“You got it, boss.”&nbsp; <br><br>With that, Sloane slipped off to finally get some much needed shut eye.&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>06-04-2013, 04:00:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0b/Msgreene.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Miss Maybelle Greene<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Early Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Inside the Golden Mare <br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Margeurite, Harley, Open<br><hr>Miss Green chuckled, politely acknowledgeing Marguerite's own politeness – society most certainly insisted it was an intrusion, but proper manners permitted them under the correct circumstances... sometimes.&nbsp; “Well, I'm glad your finding it to your liking,” she smiled.&nbsp; She paused only a moment, ready to turn away without a loss of face or the appearance of someone needy for social contact.&nbsp; At the invitation, she dithered for a moment, considering.&nbsp; <br><br>“Well, introductions are a more difficult matter than in politer society,” she agreed.&nbsp; She gave a light chuckle.&nbsp; “And I doubt anyone in town would call Gomorra polite or civilized... 'wilderness' is rather apt, though I think mother nature's beasts are possessed of greater kindness and charity than most who live in the Maze.&nbsp; Everyone out here must... do their best to adapt.”&nbsp; She gave a small shrug.&nbsp; “<em>Aptissimus solum quisque superest </em>*”<br><br>“Ms. Maybelle Greene,” she smiled.&nbsp; “And I would love to join you for tea.”&nbsp; Her gaze turned back towards Harley, and she gave her a genuinely friendly smile.&nbsp; For all her establishment's well trained staff might be eager to turn someone like Harley out, Ms. Greene never would.&nbsp; She leaned closer to Harley for a moment, touching her hand in a friendly way without being entirely too presumptuous.&nbsp; “A mutual friend left a letter for you.&nbsp; I've been holding it til I saw you in town again.”&nbsp; Her eyebrow lifted, not intending to say any more on the matter in public, but hoping her meaning was clear enough.&nbsp; Then she turned back to Margeurite, laughing lightly.&nbsp; “I'd hope that my staff would be up to such a challenge,” she smiled.&nbsp; “Though there are some days I wonder.”<br><br>Then the polite conversation was interrupted, by the arrival of a bold gentleman intent on protecting Margeurite's honor while she was safely ensconced in the Golden Mare.&nbsp; It was enough presumption on his part to make Maybelle's eyebrow lift imperiously, surprised but not impressed by his gall.&nbsp; She was even less impressed by the way his eyes dove down Margeurite's bosom.&nbsp; The insult-layered insistence on his escort, the presumption of such familiarity only made that eyebrow ratchet higher and higher, until even her iron will power couldn't keep a sharp, disbelieving laugh in check.&nbsp; <br><br>“Oh me, oh my,” she purred, her eyes narrowing like a cat that found its favorite new chewtoy.&nbsp; “Well, <em>Mrs.</em> Landry, aren't we fortunate to live in a small, dingy kind of town where gentlemen appear out of the woodwork to escort us the long, treacherous distance up the stairs to our beds?”&nbsp; <br><br>She noted the other man – Goudeau, a dangerous sort of businessman – working his way so boldly up to the young Ginny Whateley, and kept an eye out from the corner of her eye.&nbsp; Then Harley seemed all over the new arrival, and she smiled at her words.&nbsp; Her eyes fairly danced with unvoiced laughter, and then Miss Greene turned back to the newly arrived soldier.&nbsp; She was still silently shaking with laughter when Harley's eyes turned backtowards her, then her gaze slid towards Margeurite as well. <br><br>* Only the fittest survive<br><br>[OOC:&nbsp; I will wait to post for Edward until after yesiroleplay and esclavage have a chance to reply]
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>06-04-2013, 21:03:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/8/8f/Marguerite_Tuerny_07.jpg/600px-Marguerite_Tuerny_07.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Marguerite Tuerny<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Early Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Harley,&nbsp; Maybelle Greene, Open<br><hr><strong>Continued from:</strong> Around Town (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=167796.msg8008675#msg8008675)<br><hr>Marguerite waved to the waiter as she returned to her seat, her intention to ask for a tea setting for Maybelle.&nbsp; She wasn't scanning the room like the gunfighter, nor was she as aware of the clientele as their host, but the young socialite had noted the beautiful southern belle and her dashing military escort when they walked in.&nbsp; The sight held a poignant familiarity, a reminder of not so distant times now gone forever,&nbsp; a reminder of a life she no longer had.&nbsp; Balls in Richmond where the dresses were gorgeous and the soldiers were dashing in their Confederate Grays.&nbsp; The young officer even seemed familiar.<br><br>She envied the beautiful girl in the lovely gown - obviously bored with her escort.&nbsp; What she would give to be part of that culture again!&nbsp; She longed to again be one of the gentile, the well-dressed, the secure, the privileged.&nbsp; But, despite all that had happened, did she really wish she'd never met Breed?&nbsp; Never married?&nbsp; If her life had gone to plan, she would never have known what she was missing.&nbsp; Could she ever return to the life that lovely blonde girl took for granted?&nbsp; <br><br>The past was gone, and of small matter - she maintained her composure throughout the brief moment of reminisce.&nbsp; The waiter had seen her beckon as Maybelle took her seat and was making his way toward them. But before the eager teen could arrive the ladies were interrupted by the uncivil intrusion of Lieutenant Edward Baldrick.&nbsp; Not only was he simply leering down her dress, he openly insulted Harley and added the insult of ignoring Maybelle.&nbsp; Whatever his intentions, they were in no way honorable and did small service to his uniform.&nbsp; <br><br>Harley, of course, did not accept open insult meekly, and her string of insulting innuendo and biting double entendre delighted Marguerite.&nbsp; She was able to maintain a straight face from years of training in social etiquette but her eyes shared a smile with the gunslinger and their host, a twinkle that bespoke delight louder than an open laugh.<br><br><strong>"The honor sir, would be all yours."</strong>&nbsp; She replied to his forward introduction.&nbsp; The social equivalent to a slap in the face.&nbsp; She flashed a smile to Maybelle that incidentally included the young waiter stepping up behind her.&nbsp; The gangly teen gasped and blushed slightly as he placed he tea service they hadn't needed to request and then he quickly faded away - Ms. Greene's staff was sharp indeed.&nbsp; <br><br>Her wide, expressive eyes went even wider as she responded to Ms. Greene's question.&nbsp; <strong>"Fortunate?"</strong>&nbsp; She repeated for rhetoric.&nbsp; "<strong>I'm not entirely sure that is the term I'd use.&nbsp; What with the quality of escort presenting itself."</strong>&nbsp; She replied.&nbsp; Her attention was entirely away from the the young Officer, ignoring him so completely that he might not have been present.&nbsp; <strong>"I'm not even sure he has the proper <em>hardware</em> for the task."</strong>&nbsp; The man was in full uniform and openly displayed both his officer's sabre and a service revolver, so the remark was obviously playing off Harley's words.&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Muse</strong> on <strong>09-04-2013, 01:32:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a2/9439_1213355092507_500_196.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Mathew Cuthbert<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; None yet.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1376<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Deacon Sloane, Chrstian Specter, Virginia Whatley, Anyone<br><hr><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<em>If he’s half as good as he thinks he is,</em> Mat pondered regarding Christian, <em>Then he’s as good as his hype.&nbsp; The scary thing is, I think he might actually be half as good as his hype.&nbsp; <br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I wonder if that arrogance carries over to cards? </em><br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Mat realized a bit too late that he’d brought less money to wager than he intended.&nbsp; As a few others joined them at the table, a dreamy haze came over his face.&nbsp; Most people’s poke face was stony.&nbsp; Mat preferred to appear as if not really paying any attention to the game.&nbsp; In truth, his game ran somewhat on intuition.&nbsp; Not some sort of psychic phenomena, but rather the way an athlete learned that if they tried to think about what they were doing they mucked it all up.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As he played through hand after hand, winning far more than he lost but profits suffering from the small ante he’d brought to the table, he found himself admiring Ginny’s pretty face and the shapeliness revealed by her snug blouse.&nbsp; He found himself loosing a few hands before it fully sunk in how expertly she was using her body language to mislead him.&nbsp; He reversed this on her for a few hands by pretending to fall for her subtle misdirection.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By the time she caught onto this tactic, the rest of the table had noticed the intensity of the competition between them.&nbsp; With a subtle nod, he offered the suggestion that they might work together, and he set himself on continuing to seem focused on his beautiful rival.&nbsp; If they used this as a distraction, they could put the whole rest of the table off balance…&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>09-04-2013, 04:55:26</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Ezekiel, Mr. Lee<br><hr>Lilah sighed. She wasn't one to easily lose her temper, you couldn't afford to be that way on the streets, but her patience was being tested. Pretty face? It wasn't like she heard that a lot but it was true she did have good teeth though she wasn't aware that was a plus when it came to whores. She reckoned she go inside and then safe from the ears of the law dog she'd explain what she was really here about. She started to step inside, following the petite Chinese woman's retreating form, but found herself pausing in the doorway in disbelief.<br><br>"I swear someday somebody's gonna believe me when I say I ain't no...<em>two hundred dollars</em>? You'd really pay <em>two hundred dollars</em> for <em>me</em>?" She had repeat it just to&nbsp; make sure she heard right. Two hundred dollars was a lot of money for a few minutes on your back as far as Lilah knew. She didn't think her mother ever made that much, not after she had a Chinese baby though maybe back when she was a fancy girl she did. Lilah had some crazy thoughts wondering how much of that two hundred would be her take before she shook it off. "Mister, I think yer crazy."<br><br>Either she was going to have a story that would have Jack laughing to beat all or one to bring him into town guns blazing. She hoped it was the first as she stepped inside.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>13-04-2013, 22:39:51</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; &nbsp;Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Jia Li, Li-Li, Mycroft<br><hr><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d1/Mrlee.png)</div>Mr. Lee actually paused at Mycroft's offer, blinking in surprise.&nbsp; <em>A fool and his money...</em>&nbsp; He looked back, then his eyes narrowed.&nbsp; If he pressed Li-Li into service against her will, he would be charged criminally.&nbsp; As much as he would like to split such a promising offer with her, there was no way he could make a promise of it.<br><br>“We see,” he said curtly.&nbsp; “She not take job yet.&nbsp; You go around front, wait.”<br><br>Then he opened the door for Li-Li, letting her within, his eyes searching her face for a moment.&nbsp; He closed the door behind them both – there was little but a back changing area, a few buckets of water, a small rack to change sheets and clothes.&nbsp; Through a door of hanging beadwork, there was the sickly sweet stink of opium, and a dozen women that lay in states of torpor.&nbsp; A few were with clients – though it was clear they weren't entirely 'with' their clients.&nbsp; They seemed lost in a haze, oblivious to the noxiously dirty miners who were thrusting into women who did little more than grunt as they were violated.&nbsp; Some didn't even open their eyes.<br><br>The thick Cantonese accent was replaced with a lightly clipped British accent. <br><br>“The lawdog seems to have taken a keen interest in you.&nbsp; What brings you to my backdoor?”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>16-04-2013, 23:31:01</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/4c/Ginny_06a.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia 'Ginny' Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Early Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Marguerite, Harley, J.B. Goudeau, Maybelle Greene (NPC), Edward Baldrick (NPC)<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Ginny still was openly fuming over what had just transpired, her hands tightly wrapped around her cup of tea as she stared at it with a fierce green-eyed gaze.&nbsp; Her back was stiff with anger and in a touch of small irony, it couldn't get any stiffer, because it was already was ramrod straight from the whalebone lining fixed in the corset of her pink dress.&nbsp; Pausing, she forced herself to take a few deep breaths as she could feel her cheeks growing flush, both from her anger and the decided lack of oxygen, as she fanned herself slightly with one white, gloved hand.&nbsp; Not often did the young Whateley find herself out in the cold like she was now.&nbsp; At least, not since she had gotten a pair of teats and started filling out her dresses around five years ago on her fourteenth birthday.&nbsp; Since her childhood, Ginny always relied on her looks coupled with her charm to wheedle and whine until she got what she wanted.&nbsp; It was the same with her cousins as it was with her older relatives; most seemed content to spoil her rotten.&nbsp; Even outside of the family, plenty were willing to fawn over her appearance and her family name at the dances so she had never had a lack of interested suitors.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;So it had been a bit of a shock to be abandoned by her potential beau, even if she had been showing as much interest as a dead trout.&nbsp; One simply did not do what Edward Baldrick just did, especially not in the company that he had been keeping.&nbsp; On the one hand, she supposed she should be grateful; after all, he had given her the perfect opportunity to weasel out from any further obligations.&nbsp; Not even her mother would make her see such a man, Lieutenant or not, after what he had just done.&nbsp; Both sides of her family, the Whateleys and the Westhoffs, were a proud bunch.&nbsp; This was akin to spitting in their face.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Yet, the thought of simply letting things go did not sit well with the young Whateley.&nbsp; After all, it was one thing for her to flutter her eyelashes at him and then never telegram back.&nbsp; It was another to allow such a boorish snub stand without any form of retaliation.&nbsp; In fact, Ginny was slowly building up to a boil now that the initial shock of what had happened was beginning to fade.&nbsp; While she didn't often lose her temper, when she did, it always occurred in a spectacular fashion as all her family could testify.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And so, Ginny mulled over what the best way to get her revenge even as she finished off one of the delicate, vanilla flavored wafers.&nbsp; Perhaps she'd go over in a huff and see who had caught Edward's attention.&nbsp; Her curiosity had been peaked though she had resisted looking over behind her shoulder, an awkward motion given she really couldn't bend or twist at the waist in her current clothing.&nbsp; Surely, this other girl must have been stunning to so easily draw his eye though she didn't want to admit that there could be someone else who could given begin to hold a candle's flame to her.&nbsp; That or he really was simply blind.&nbsp; And as the seconds ticked by, she felt more compelled to leave her seat and go and cause a scene.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; That'd teach the arrogant jacknape some manners!<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; In fact, she had been so preoccupied up in her thoughts, Ginny was largely oblivious to the man who took a seat next to her table.&nbsp; It wasn't until his murmured words at her chin lifted and those green Whateley eyes sharpened back to their normal gleam, losing the cloud of anger.&nbsp; Carefully, she pivoted her full body until she was three-quarters of the way turned towards the speaker.&nbsp; Her eyes carefully took in his entire form, the dusty appearance of a man who had just finished working to the hint of his southen drawl as he spoke, once again with that shrewd look that defined a Whateley as she offered him a wide, beautific smile in response to his words.&nbsp; J.B. Goudeau was not unknown to her and she appreciated him and the hint of the South he brought with him.&nbsp; It reminded her of home, which she missed from time to time out in the Maze.&nbsp; While his flattery was laid on thick, at this moment, the young Whateley was willing to have her ego massaged.&nbsp; A slight flutter of her eyes was given in his direction.&nbsp; <strong>"But Mistah <em>Goudeau</em>, Father Navarro himself says that we best be wary of such angels." </strong> <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;A dramatic pause was given for effect.&nbsp; <strong>"Fer even the devil kin also transforms himself in tah an angel o'light,"</strong> she remarked, even as she took a fresh sip of her tea.&nbsp; Neatly sidestepping the compliment and acting modest while the truth was anything but that.&nbsp; Sitting pretty in her pink frills and red ribbons, she was a mouth-watering vision.&nbsp; Though in her case, truer words were never spoken concerning herself though perhaps the young Whateley didn't fully appreciate the gravity of her own words.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Then, her smile widened fractionally.&nbsp; <strong>"Yer right tho'.&nbsp; An angel like muh is wasted on Edward."</strong>&nbsp; Putting the tea cup delicately down, she stood now , her skirts rustling.&nbsp; <strong>"If yuh'll be such a gentleman as to accompany me?"</strong>&nbsp; And without waiting to see if she did, so confident that he would follow, Ginny turned and began to make her way over to the table where Edward Baldrick was so awkwardly standing among the three woman.&nbsp; It was obvious whatever his intentions, he had been rebuffed sharply.&nbsp; And things were only about to get worse for him in a moment as Ginny closed in like a shark sensing blood in the water.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Why, Edward!&nbsp; And here ah thought the wash was that'uh way!"</strong>&nbsp; Ginny's voice was especially loud and bright, making sure everyone could hear her loud and clear.&nbsp; Striding up authoritatively, she enjoyed seeing his confident manner dim ever so slightly as he was no doubt thinking of a way to leave with some face.&nbsp; He probably hadn't realized she had been onto his ruse from the beginning.&nbsp; The man would have been a terrible poker player in Ginny's opinion.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Imperiously, the young Whateley sashayed up, her smile still fixed in place.&nbsp; Not giving a hint as to her intentions as she came to the table with the other three gathered women.&nbsp; And immediately, she picked out her rival.&nbsp; It wasn't that difficult.&nbsp; After all, it was Mrs. Greene and then a scruffy-looking woman dressed in cowboy leathers whom Ginny didn't pay much attention to though her skin did tingle with a strange feeling of <em>deja vu</em>.&nbsp; No, her brief glance was all for this other girl and she sized her up in an instant, those sharp green eyes dissecting her look, her deportment, her manner.&nbsp; And the edge of her lip curled at the plain plaid dress the other was wearing.&nbsp; Really, Edward was blind.&nbsp; Though Ginny did privately admit to herself that she did carry herself with a certain sensual air.&nbsp; It was pervading and subtle, in how she was so primly seated.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And as the young Lieutenant began to open his mouth to speak, Ginny leaned forward and pressed a single white gloved finger to his lips to shush him.&nbsp; <em><strong>"No need tah say a thing.&nbsp; Ah understand..."</strong></em>&nbsp; Her voice was soothing, comforting even.&nbsp; And she waited until his shoulders began to relax, relieved that he had somehow dodged this bullet.<br><br><em><strong>CRACK</strong></em><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;That sharp noise echoed throughout the Golden Mare as Ginny unloaded a powerful slap with her right hand, impacting fully against Lieutenant Baldrick's cheek.&nbsp; And before anyone could say a thing, the young Whateley also grabbed a pot of steaming hot tea from a nearby table and upended it over him, the hot water soaking his uniform before bringing down the metal pot with a resounding <span style="font-family: arial black;" class="bbc_font"><span style="font-size: 14pt;" class="bbc_size"><strong>CRASH</strong></span></span> that no doubt had everyone wincing.&nbsp; He'd be lucky to escape with only a bruise.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Good day tah yuh, Suh!!!"</strong>&nbsp; Ginny shouted hotly before stamping on his left foot with her heel as hard as she could.&nbsp; Then, she was all sweetness and smiles again as she gave a very proper curtsy to the three gathered women.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah'm sorry fer interrupting yuh'all."</strong>&nbsp; Her voice was smooth and pleasant, with barely a hint of what had just happened.&nbsp; A deeper curtsy was given in Marguerite's direction, an indication that Ginny recognized her as a rival.&nbsp; <strong>"Yuh kin hav'im; ah think yur suited tah one another."</strong>&nbsp; A significant look was given at the girl from Baltimore's borrowed wear.&nbsp; <strong>"Especially with <em>that </em>dress."</strong>&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;A catty smile given, she prepared to flounce away.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah've better prospects,"</strong> was her last barb given off-handedly even as she looked for Mr. Goudeau to escort her back to the table.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>17-04-2013, 00:36:16</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 'Ginny' Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Matthew Cuthbert, Christian "Spooky" Specter, Deacon Sloane, Open<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The action was quick and fast around the table, just the way that Ginny liked it.&nbsp; A hand won, followed by a hand lost.&nbsp; The young Whateley abandoned herself to the rhythm of the game, to the sweet sound of the cards brushing up against one another in that silky whisper as they were shuffled and the clink of gold hitting the pile in the center as bets were taken and the occasional bluff was made.&nbsp; Each person was a study in contrast.&nbsp; Spooky was almost like a granite slab, barely moving outside of placing bets.&nbsp; In fact, with his hat tipped so low as to hide his face, one might have mistaken him for being asleep.&nbsp; Or dead, if their sense of humor went in that morbid direction.&nbsp; However, there had also been<em> something </em>in his gaze earlier when he had refused the free blow that had been offered by Mr. Sloane was an awkward peace offering between the two.&nbsp; Was he worried about offending her sensibilities?&nbsp; His words did get him a slight smile though Ginny wasn't willing to let the words touch her heart even if they were heartfelt about Spooky having all the company he needed.&nbsp; A true gentleman then and a rarity in this day and age.&nbsp; Ginny herself was quite the cynical nineteen, having seen and learned one or two hard lessons when she was younger.&nbsp; Enough so that she didn't really believe in a prince charming that would be riding a white stallion to come and sweep her off her feet before riding off in the sunset.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Still, it seemed as if he knew what he was doing and so Ginny was quite confident that she wouldn't have to worry about a scene in the Casino from him losing too much money.&nbsp; No doubt Mr. Sloane would appreciate that though since he was such an ornery cuss, he'd show his appreciation by frowning and spitting in her general direction.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Much like he had just done.&nbsp; Pretending to take her offer of a cigar just so he could get close.&nbsp; And while his words were for her ears alone, Ginny had obliged him by genuinely blushing at his ribald words, her cheeks taking on a rosy color as she had paused to fan herself.&nbsp; &nbsp;She <em>would</em> need to go to confessional later after such salacious words.&nbsp; And demurely, she deferred her gaze from Sloane's, those green Whateley eyes sliding away, acknowledging that he had seen through her feminine wiles.&nbsp; Truly a dangerous man - and that was something that stirred her blood in a way that she'd hesitate to admit aloud.&nbsp; Such a shame he wasn't a decade or two younger...<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Then, there was Matthew Cuthbert, the card sharp.&nbsp; And he was good.&nbsp; Good as any at that table she'd played that black night.&nbsp; Their's was a war of information.&nbsp; Misleading and misdirecting.&nbsp; At first, Ginny had fooled him on one hand, letting him think she had a pair of nines when she really had a pair of kings.&nbsp; But then, in a later hand, he had gotten her.&nbsp; Trip Aces to beat out her two pair.&nbsp; Using the same, subtle cues that she had used to fool him.&nbsp; Still, he seemed to be playing extremely conservative with small antes.&nbsp; It was surprisingly cautious for such a flamboyant person and lead Ginny to believe he was more capable than he was even showing now.&nbsp; No, this was merely the preliminary round.&nbsp; Much like a hunter would lay bait around his trap for his prey.&nbsp; Mr. Cuthbert would be coming back, no doubt.&nbsp; Today was simple a friendly greeting as they tried to understand one another and how they played. Though Ginny had no intention of being hunted.&nbsp; If anything, she planned on being the hunter the next time they sat across the table from one another.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Yur good,"</strong> Ginny remarked even as she lost another hand to Matthew, his straight beating out her low pair as he scooped up another small pot.&nbsp; Honestly, admiring his skill.&nbsp; Then, her voice turned subtle once more.&nbsp; <strong>"Whatevah's uh gurl like muh supposed tah do?"</strong>&nbsp; She batted her lashes at Spooky in a flirtatious manner.&nbsp; <strong>"Yu'll save muh, right Suh?"</strong>&nbsp; And when she received no reaction, as he remained focused on the game, a small pouting frown was given even as she poured a shot of whiskey before sipping it.<br><br>~*~*~<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; And so the next few hours past as Ginny felt her luck getting hotter and hotter.&nbsp; Almost too hot as she'd won the past five hands in a row as her stack of earnings grew, looking even more ridiculous than before.&nbsp; Miners and other players would come and go, but overall Matthew Cuthbert and Spooky stayed, seemingly determined to stick it out with her.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; If this were somewhere else, she'd play it smart and lose the next one deliberately.&nbsp; No sense in stirring up any ill will among the customers.&nbsp; But here in the Casino, she knew that she was safe.&nbsp; Sloane and her rent she paid to him for running a table guaranteed it.&nbsp; And so, she only arched an eyebrow coolly at the miner who exploded as his temper ran hot when she showed him a higher two pair, Kings over Queens.&nbsp; She hadn't bothered to remember his name though he certainly was not that pleasant to look at.&nbsp; Certainly not a regular and definitely not much of a gambler since he hadn't been prepared to lose what he had brought to the table.&nbsp; Though her eyes did narrow imperceptibly at his words and his threat.&nbsp; Nothing she hadn't heard, but those words invoked some unpleasant memories.&nbsp; Her mouth hardened slightly though she didn't otherwise give that much heed to his words, even as she waited for Sloane's men to act.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;But Spooky beat them all to the punch.&nbsp; Apparently, the gunman was fast on the draw in more ways than one.&nbsp; And with simple threat and those terrible, terrible eyes coming to life, the miner was sitting his yonder arse back down so fast that the chair he was in busted as the whole Casino laughed.&nbsp; Ginny joined in, her higher voice pealing above the coarse laughter even as Spooky bought the man a drink to show that there was no ill will between the two of them .<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;As the infamous gunman deferred to her, Ginny favored him with another blood-stirring smile.&nbsp; <strong>"Thank yuh kindly, good Suh.&nbsp; A damsel like muh always appreciates a helpin' hand."</strong>&nbsp; She dealt him his cards even as she sought a bit more information about him.&nbsp; <strong>"So ah coudint help but overhear yuh and Mistah Sloane talkin'.&nbsp; And ah'll keep muh ears open fer a man in black for yuh." </strong> <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; And she wasn't bluffing; if it was one thing the young Whateley was good for, it was the latest rumors and gossip around Gomorra.&nbsp; An interested look was given at the mysterious, almost mythical gunman.&nbsp; <strong>"Yuh ever interested in showing muh a trick or two?&nbsp; Ah'd appreciate the help mightily."</strong>&nbsp; With her free left hand, she made a pistol with her finger and mock shot with it, giving the sense that she really didn't know what she was doing.&nbsp; "Ah've got a house in-town.&nbsp; And ah make a mighty mean sweet tea."&nbsp; A hint of pride was in her voice there along with the not-so subtle invitation to her personal dwelling.&nbsp; The pride was understandable.&nbsp; After all, that tea was Granny's specialty recipe and the pride of the Whateleys back when they lived in Georgia.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; <strong>"See?"</strong> she remarked pointedly to Matthew, almost as if she wanted to set them against one another.&nbsp; After all, her ego was large enough that she'd enjoy the sight of two men squabbling over her favor.&nbsp; <strong>"This is 'ow uh man acts around a woman.&nbsp; Not by takin' her winnings."</strong>&nbsp; She gave a small pout in his direction as he still went ahead and won the next hand to stop her win streak.&nbsp; <strong>"See wot ah mean?&nbsp; Uh gentleman would've folded and let muh win!"</strong>&nbsp; Her tone was exaggerated as those green Whateley eyes twinkled, letting the gambler know that she wasn't serious at all.&nbsp; It was simply part of her persona, much like the clothing she wore.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And not wanting to be undone for generosity, she plucked up a golden eagle and bought a round o'beer for everyone at the table.&nbsp; The good stuff, the best the Casino had to offer.&nbsp; After all, they were all here for a good time.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>22-04-2013, 07:50:58</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Mr. Lee<br><hr>Much to Lilah's relief Mr. Lee waved the law dog off so at least for now they might have a little privacy to do some talking. Mr. Lee gave her a look as she stepped through the doorway that made her wonder if there was a little more going on behind his spectacles than he let on. She felt uneasy when she stepped into the brothel, not because she'd never been in one before but because she had, though this wasn't the sort of place her mother ever worked in. The thick stench of opium made her want to retch -- alcohol had been her mother's escape of choice -- and having seen the first woman's dead eyed capitulation she couldn't stand it to take another gander of any of them. That could have been her, different circumstances, if she got desperate enough, if there hadn't been Jack. She'd like to think she'd have been strong enough to find her own way but probably lots of girls that ended up their backs thought that at one point or another. When they got where they were going and Lee spoke again, Lilah had to blink at the transformation. He sounded a lot like the very law dog he commented on.<br><br>"I dunno why I caught his attention, I ain't nobody," Lilah said with a slight shake of her head, still wondering about the change in Mr. Lee. "But on to business. The short of it is I have a message for Captain Sim Yut-San and I'm told you're the man to help me get to 'em."<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Madriv</strong> on <strong>23-04-2013, 18:58:20</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mc5777GoYi1r0gffeo1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> J. B. Goudeau <br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Locaxtion:</strong> The Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Virginia (directly);&nbsp; Marguerite, Miss Greene, Harley, Edward<br><hr><br><em>"Fer even the devil kin also transforms himself in tah an angel o'light,"</em><br><br>Goudeau blinked twice at the lady's response, weighing the words carefully. Did she just insinuate that she was a devil in disguise? Her unexpected repartee was saucy for a girl with her upbringing but then she'd always been a clever one, as far back as he'd seen her around town. Virginia was a pristine little beauty and the true devil of the thing was that she knew it better than anyone else.<br><br>That boy was about to get his walking papers, if he lived long enough to walk out of the hotel.<br><br><em>"If yuh'll be such a gentleman as to accompany me?"</em><br><br>It wasn't a request, of course. At the clink of her teacup Goudeau was already on his feet, pulling her chair away to permit her voluminous skirts to sweep out from beneath the cafe table. He had barely a moment to smooth his vest before she was off, making a silken beeline for the target of her displeasure.<br><br>His politely salacious smile disappeared, replaced by the humorless mask he wore when discussing unpleasant business. Hands crossed behind his back, Goudeau used the time it took them to cross the room to slip the catch from his forearm rig. Not that there would be any untoward behavior in the Golden Mare – certainly not under Miss Greene's very nose – but it always paid for a true gentleman to be over-prepared.<br><br>As he planted himself stoically at Miss Whateley's right shoulder and admired the tableau before them, he had to admit that the soldier boy had good taste. It was just a shame he'd displayed it in the worst possible way. The object of his attentions was darkly beautiful, fit to rival Virginia in her own earthy way. She'd easily be a top choice in any bawdy house in The Maze, possibly even worth keeping for oneself in an exclusive situation on the side. However, this was neither the time nor place to chase Mexican tail, in a fine hotel and in front of decent women. Well, two decent women and one mannish girl with guns at the very least.<br><br>Virginia struck like a snake and scalded the hound for good measure. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips at the final crunch of boot heel on bone. Miss Whateley was a spitfire, a pureblood hellcat under that frilly lace, and she suddenly had his full attention in every possible&nbsp; way. As she finished insulting the dark girl Goudeau's arm was poised and ready to accept her gloved hand, even before her parting shot about “prospects.”<br><br>He knew better, he truly did. He was no more than a convenient prop for a woman's fit of pique. But for just a moment he let his gaze sweep over the women at the table with the self-assured air of a cat that had finally sunk his claws into the town's prized canary.&nbsp; "Your humble servant, Miss Whateley," he purred, his voice as dark and smooth as Southern whisky.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>27-04-2013, 19:53:35</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; First Lieutenant Edward Baldrick<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Early Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Inside the Golden Mare <br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Margeurite, Harley, Virginia, Goudeau<br><hr>Edward Baldrick took slings and arrows of outrageous insult, slowly seething as his generous offer to the poorly dressed mademoiselle was not just rebuffed, but derided thrice over.&nbsp; His soft chin quivered, his moustache trembling as beads of sweat trickled down his brow.&nbsp; The dark-haired Baltimore socialite had robbed him o some of the better part of his sense, it was true, and perhaps he’d acted without the most proper of intentions or bearing – but it was the West, god damn it, and not a mile from where they stood was a whore house selling yellow ass for a quarter.&nbsp; &nbsp; To pretend that anyone here was fit company for a gentleman such as himself was charity on his part – and&nbsp; they might as well have been hooting and laughing in his face.<br><br>It was like the Army, all over again, and those ghastly enlisted soldiers who never seemed to respect his position as an officer, even when he’d bought his promotion.&nbsp; He fumed, his fists shaking at his side, one insult after another piling – and then Ginny was being there, sweet and reassuring – only to turn treasonous upon him.<br><br>He’d spent <em>weeks</em> coming to this idiotic arrangement, travelling West&nbsp; by train, through Southern, Northern, and Independent states.&nbsp; She’d been pretty enough, certainly, although the Whateley name carried far less weight in Georgia than it had before all the Whateleys had summarily departed.&nbsp; Months, and his charity turned into a hard slap across his cheek and a pot of dumped tea.&nbsp; <br><br>His chin quivered, and his throat constricted with rage.<br><br><strong>”I will not be addressed so,”</strong> he swore.&nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>”Not by a… a… <em>Mexican</em> or a <em>whoremonger</em>,” he snapped, waving at Harley and Miss Greene.&nbsp; “And certainly not by some big-titted plebian with <em>delusions</em> of aristocracy.”&nbsp; &nbsp; His lips trembled.&nbsp; “And certainly not by some inbred Whateley who thinks she’s the belle of the ball because she lives at the arse-end of the world.&nbsp; Yes, Virginia Whateley, you’re the Queen of Gomorrah!&nbsp; There’s not a soul here who would even merit <em>invitation</em> to one of my family’s balls.&nbsp; You’re a modest fish in a tiny pond no one cares about, and in Georgia you would be checking coats and praying a Baldrick might grace your lackluster features with a moment’s gaze.”</strong><br><br>He wiped tea from his face, the skin reddened by the tea. <strong> “The Good Lord had it right when he turned Gommora to salt and ash the first time.&nbsp; I hope he reaches summary judgment about <em>this</em> hellhole soon enough, and you all get what you so richly deserve.”</strong><br><br>He was storming towards the door, then, shouldering past Virginia and Goudeau as though they were well and truly beneath him.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>27-04-2013, 20:31:13</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; &nbsp;Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Jia Li, Li-Li,<br><hr><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d1/Mrlee.png)</div>Mr. Lee watched her reaction to the interior of the Den of Eastern Delights, noting the revulsion she had difficulty hiding, and gave a small, dark smile.&nbsp; He traced over her features thoughtfully, possibly considering the law dog’s offer from outside, and then&nbsp; returning his focus to her face.<br><br>Behind him was a long table – it was hidden in the backroom, but it was padded, for someone to lay out on, and there were soft leather manacles at the corners of the table.&nbsp; The sides near the head of the table had been stained by vomit – and in the center of the table there was a dark stain that reeked vaguely of feces.&nbsp; On a small table nearby was an opium hookah – although the water visible through the glass chamber had a greenish tinge.<br><br>“I doubt very much you are nobody.&nbsp; There are a handful of ‘Orientals’ in all the West who can speak without an accent.&nbsp; Few of those who can ever leave Shan Fan.”&nbsp; His curiosity was certainly aroused, and he reached forward, lifting her chin slightly, his eyes considering.&nbsp; “Or… half-Oriental… “ he noted.&nbsp; His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.<br><br>“A message.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; It might be possible I can do what you ask.&nbsp; If I could, what would the message be?”<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>30-04-2013, 04:24:02</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian "Spooky" Specter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Matthew Cuthbert, Ginny Whateley, Deacon Sloane, Open<br><hr><br>“Yu’ll save muh, right Suh?” Ginny has asked Christian during the game, and he did not answer. It was not that he was a sour cuss, though he was, it was that a game of cards was in progression, and his focus could not be spared. Cards were not his specialty, though he had a very mean poker face, and he did much feel like going home to Agatha with all his money taken by card sharps at the Casino. <br><br>“Thank yuh kindly, good Suh. A damel like muh always appreciates a helpin’ hand,” she had graced him with a smile that lit his blood on fire, though from Christian’s face he seemed as neutral as ever, only the barest twinkle in his eye betrayed he felt anything by her comment.<br><br>“I figger ya could handle yerself, ya certainly seem like a…” Christian paused a moment, his eyes narrowing as he turned to look at her, his cold, blue eyes boring into her own, “strong woman. I just can’t tolerate rudeness in man. ‘specially not towards a lady like yerself.” The comment begged explanation, as a story certainly lurked behind the words.<br><br>When Ginny mentioned the man in black, Christian went entirely still. The nickname Spooky seemed all too inadequate to explain the eerie quiet that surrounded the gunslinger in an instant after she spoke of his nemeses, his heel, his weakness. His mind raced, as the last woman who ever said such a thing to him ended up to be far more than he expected and she was definitely far more than he could handle. He fled the city not soon after her. Ginny, however, was different. Christian just knew it. He could not explain how, or why, or what in the nine hells would make him want to trust another she-devil that seemed all too perfect, but he did.<br><br>“I reckon I’d owe you quite the debt if ya helped me with that particular thorn in this lion’s paw,” was all Christian managed to get out. His voice, always husky, had the tiniest inkling of what some might have thought fear, others guilt, and still others despair hidden in his thick Texan accent. He took a deep breath and looked back to his cards. Then she mentioned her home, tea, and gunslinging lessons. If the room had been quiet, his racing heart would be heard thumping against his chest as though trying to break free.<br><br>“I’d be much obliged ta join ya fer tea, ma’am. Havin’ another friend’n town certainly won’t hurt. I reckon teachin’ ya ta shoot could have a whole wagon’ve fun ta go with that delicious tea as well,” Christian told her as he did something he rarely did, and the only other individual in Gomorra that had been graced with such a rarity was Agatha Dunwich, and smiled. It was a closed mouth smile, though an honest one. <br><br>It did not last long when her attention again returned to the pretty-faced gambler that sat near him, Matthew. The narrow eyed expression and the return of the frightening stare was all anyone needed to see to know Christian had returned to the grim and dour killer he had been when he walked in. The white-knight saving the damsel he had been a moment ago was gone as quickly as he had come. Jealous apparently accompanied a fast-draw. <br><br>Christian stood slowly, checked his gun, and situated his hat back onto his grizzled countenance. He strode towards the door, offering the barest of nods for Yanko. As he pushed open the bat-wing doors he paused a second, then turned back to Ginny, “When yer ready fer that lesson, just let me know. Yer likely ta find me at Agatha Dunwich’s place.” A few sniggers came across the crowd when some discovered who he was here with, a couple of mumbled “flame-haired vixen” remarks could barely be heard. Christian growled a curse, and his hand dropped to his side, where Reaper laid in wait patiently. The sniggering and comments cut out immediately.<br><br>“She’s a good friend o’mine, kind ‘nough ta share ‘er roof while I’m in town,” he stated pointly, a stare that felt like death creeping across the various patrons of the Casino Morongo. “I look forward ta some more time tagether, Ms. Whateley. Don’t be a stranger.” At that, the bat-wing doors swung haphazardly behind him as Christian head back into town.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>01-05-2013, 22:45:07</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/8/8f/Marguerite_Tuerny_07.jpg/600px-Marguerite_Tuerny_07.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Marguerite Tuerny<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Early Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Harley,&nbsp; Maybelle Greene, Open<br><hr>After her one brief reply, Marguerite had studiously ignored the uninvited and unwelcome interloper as she focused on her table-companions.&nbsp; The man's words meant nothing, and they barely registered as she watched first Ms. Greene, and then Harley.&nbsp; When the man refused to leave, the situation grew quite awkward, and she wondered if she would have to be more explicit in dismissing him.<br><br>All the while a few things nagged at her.&nbsp; One was the girl across the room - or rather her dress.&nbsp; Marguerite knew quality when she saw it, and she envied the girl that dress.&nbsp; There was a time, and not so long ago, when she discarded dresses like that after a single wearing.&nbsp; Now she was reduced to wearing a respectable, serviceable garment handed down from a dead girl.&nbsp; A dress that barely fit, especially across her wider dimensions.<br><br>The lovely blonde girl was on her way over, and Marguerite would have been happy to meet her, to build a friendship with someone with which she suspected she might have much in common.&nbsp; Only the girl wasn't on her way over to socialize.&nbsp; The curl of her lip as she appraised Marguerite, and especially her dress, was proof enough of that.<br><br>The blonde girl's primary focus was obviously the rather dim Confederate Officer that somehow failed to realize he was encroaching in areas he wasn't welcome.&nbsp; And that brought Rita to the other thing nagging her thoughts.&nbsp; The gentleman himself.&nbsp; She refused to acknowledge him with another glance, but she was sure she had...&nbsp; Her eyes widened as she suddenly remembered! (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=167460.msg8152780#msg8152780)&nbsp; She'd only been sixteen at the time, and he really hadn't noticed her and her rail thin, ganky-girlish figure, but they had met before, back at the Debutante Cotillion in Richmond.<br><br>She couldn't decide whether to be amused or even more insulted as the irony of the situation unfolded.&nbsp; She'd been so upset that he had ignored her on their last meeting, and now... Now she decided she was even more upset that he wasn't ignoring her.&nbsp; <br><br>She'd really stopped listening to him, instead watching Harley for the most part, with suitable if not over-lavish attention to Maybelle.&nbsp; She was struggling to come up with a conversation starter - something not entirely awkward or too patently contrived - when the sharp crack of the slap and the metallic crash of the teapot finally forced her attention away from the table.<br><br><strong>"I hope that wasn't a good teapot."</strong>&nbsp; She offered with casual observation, totally ignoring the man and his insults.&nbsp; The teapot looked serviceable rather than precious - pewter most likely.&nbsp; Still, the comment served to break the tension.&nbsp; At least her own.<br><br>She met the clear green eyes of the blonde beauty, the insult to her apparel dismissed with only a tiny inward wince.&nbsp; She wished the jab didn't bother her, and she sincerely hoped she covered the fact that it did.&nbsp; <strong>"It's not the dress that makes the lady."</strong>&nbsp; Marguerite replied after what was she was sure was an imperceptible pause. She didn't elaborate, but her manner clearly conveyed the ancillary thought that while Marguerite might be under-dressed, perhaps Ginny was wearing too much dress for a girl of her quality.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>02-05-2013, 00:32:35</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Mr. Lee<br><hr>Lilah was mighty glad to be heading into the backroom and out of sight of the strung out whores who were so far gone they probably didn't know where they were anymore or what was being done to them. The latter was a mercy, the only one they would likely ever get. Lilah didn't understand none of it, not how something could have such a power over you that you'd do anything for it...not why a man would want to stick a cock in something so unmoving and unaware he might as well go and dig up a fresh corpse...why a Chinaman would let Chinese women be treated this way even for the money. Lilah wasn't a philosopher like Jack and couldn't put it into words but she knew deep in her bones that there was something so wrong here it would never be right again, not until these poor girls were gone and the brothel burned down and the ground salted. She mentally scolded herself for sounding like a greenhorn, even to herself. It wasn't like she didn't know how life worked on the street, that money and desperation would make a person do just about anything, and that none of it was one god-damned bit of her business. She had a job to do and there was nothing she could do about it anyway. One person giving a damn couldn't fix anything -- unless you were Jack. And even so, it was taking him a long while.<br><br>Her relief at getting a break from the display of misery was short-lived, lasting only as long as the few seconds it took for the stench to wash over her and her eyes to take in the details of the place. She wasn't naive but she was young and she didn't realize at first what this terrible room was for. She knew how white brothels worked, of course, and they could be ugly for sure but when it finally came over her what went on in her and why she thought she was going to vomit for sure. Her eyes flickered from the stains of the table to the hookah to Mr. Lee who was looking at her entirely too closely. It began a regret she hadn't brought her gun. Lee brought her here for a reason, either because he wanted to get his hands on that law dog's money or as a threat, either way that knife in her boot was itching to come out. Suddenly being a nobody standing in this room with this twisted devil seemed like a very bad idea.<br><br>"Well, I suppose that's true, I ain't a nobody exactly. <em>I</em> think I'm somebody, 'course, and pleased to say, I ain't the only one," she managed to say though her jaw just wanted to clench and she just wanted to run out like a spooked cat. It was important she didn't let on how rattled she was though, that would just be giving him what he wanted. She slid her hands into her pockets and took a couple steps in, not getting too close to the table but rearranging herself so she could see if anybody tried to come in the door behind her. "I'm doin' all right for myself. But gettin' to the meat of it, I need to arrange a meetin' with the captain, to the mutual benefit of both parties involved so I don't think he'd wanna miss the chance."<br><br>She was bluffing, a little, She didn't exactly know what Jack had in mind but she also knew Jack was too smart to approach Captain Sim Yut-San without something to offer. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>06-05-2013, 01:20:08</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0c/Doomtown2-Recovered2.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Walter Sinnett<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Early evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Scared Stiff Saloon and Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open<br><hr><strong>“I told you not to bring the damn thing in here!”<br><br>“And I told you to bloody shut your trap Ethan or I'd shut it for you.”</strong><br><br>The Scared Stiff Saloon was not a place many tended to frequent through choice. Even for a town with as rough-and-tumble a reputation as Gomorra, it was noted as the place where even the rough-and-tumble sometimes feared to tread. The décor... if it could even be called that... was little more than what bits and pieces the proprietor, Ethan, had been able to scrounge together from scrap piles and the like... and considering that few people ever threw out anything that was still in one piece you can imagine what the state of it was. The tables were rickety, the chairs normally had at least one leg missing, the bar counter itself was little more than a plank of wood placed on two slats. One could probably find a more salubrious location to quench one's thirst if one simply grabbed a bottle of whisky and sat drinking in the Flophouse. And it was best not to ask quite what the stains were...<br><br>The clientèle of this 'fine' establishment. It took a brave man or woman to wander into 'Stiffys' (as the locals sometimes called it). These were the lowest of the low, those shunned from campfires, refused service in most decent establishments. Ethan himself had a long and ignoble history as a drunk and a bar brawler during his days as a miner before an argument with a rock face led to him losing an arm. There was Billy the Knife, a rat-faced petty thief who as far as Walt knew had never used the knife he claimed her got his name from. Dirk, the bruising wagon driver with the lazy eye and a taste for moonshine so vile it would be rejected as paint stripper. Handsome Taw, a man who was neither handsome nor really called Taw. Scabby Sally, a whore so viscous of tempermant and repulsive of look that she seemed to make most of her coin through scaring young men into paying her to go away. Apache Matt... well, his name was at least 'Matt' but no-one knew why he had decided to take on the 'Apache' moniker. And for the last few weeks, one Walter Sinnett who, in this place had found something at gave him at least some memories of his beloved Nag's Head.<br><br>And, for this night at least, Walter's donkey.<br><br>Well, we shouldn't really call it “Walter's” donkey. He hadn't bought it and he hadn't even stolen it. The fact of the matter was walking across the plains wasn't the most efficient use of time when he was sent out to give some wilful miner's the evil eye and so his generous employers at the Sweetrock Mining Company sometimes provided him with a means of transport. They'd given him the wagon which he couldn't control and the horses which he couldn't understand and now they'd given him the donkey. Walter liked the donkey, despite it pitching him into the ground. It didn't run off in strange directions or snort and toss it's head. He could appreciate the donkey. He was sure that at some stage he would have to pay for it if he kept it but for now he doubted Sweetrock, even with their army of attentive beancounters would worry too much about him holding onto the donkey for a few more days.<br><br><strong>“The thing's a damn donkey Walt... what d'ya think you can bring it in here for?”<br><br>“I'll let you know my donkey ain't so bad. It's a damn sight prettier than Sally...”<br><br>“Hey!”<br><br>“It's got better conversation than that mug Billy”<br><br>“What?”<br><br>“And it causes less trouble than Matt”<br><br>“Huh?”<br><br>“What do you mean it causes no trouble Walt? It just shat all over the floor!”<br><br>“But Dirk does that all the feckin' time.”</strong><br><br>Walt may have managed to offend everyone in the bar but that was barely noteworthy; it was a talent he had. More, it was the sort of place where everyone offended everyone on a nightly basis, only to forget it all in a mist of cheap booze. The donkey, somewhat bemused at the whole turn of events and otherwise happily munching down on some straw that Walter had pulled up from somewhere, actually looked in place among this collection of the dregs of the West. It was certainly the most respectable creature there and probably the one with the most to be proud of about its life. Sally, her offence at being called uglier than a donkey (and in truth that was probably one of the nicest things she'd been called over the last few days) seemingly having passed, gave it a stroke along the back before turning to Walt as he hunched against the bar, a mug of murky liquid that was apparently alcoholic in his hand.<br><br><strong>“But why did you bring the Donkey in here Walt?”<br><br>“Because I knows you lot and I knows what you'd do. You can't leave nothin' around 'ere that ain't nailed down without one of you damn gonophs nickin' it. And I ain't nailin' down my damn donkey. And you...”<br></strong><br>He looked over his shoulder to Apache Matt, a fierce gleam in his eyes<br><br><strong>“... if I find my donkey with any 'oles in it I'll be 'avin' a conversation with you.”<br><br>“But I didn't say nothin'!”<br><br>“But you were thinkin' it weren't you? I told you about that thinkin' malarkey... you ain't no good at it.”</strong><br><br>Handsome Taw cut in, his face crunched in concentration.<br><br><strong>“Forget the damn donkey. What about this plan of mine?”</strong><br><br>Walter appeared to be barely paying attention while the rest all circled round, ready to hear the plan. They may not be smart or organised but they all dreamt of the big score, the one that would get them all the money they would ever need. As was the way with such things they never would but what man could live without dreams?<br><br><strong>“So listen. I've been snooping around town a bit.”<br><br>“Wanderin' around drunk more like”<br><br>“Shut up Ethan! And yeah, since the old sheriff got shot law and order isn't exactly a top line around&nbsp; here right now. I think if we pull one off no-one's going to be looking for us, not right now at least.<br><br>“Pull what off?”<br><br>“I'm getting to that Dirk. So, as I said, I'm walking through town and I notice a house.”<br><br>“What house?”<br><br>“Well it isn't really a house...”<br><br>“But you called it a house...”<br><br>“Well, it is a house...”<br><br>“But you just said it wasn't a house...”<br><br>“Shut up Matt! It's a shop but it's also a house. I mean, the ground floor's a shop but then there's a house as well.”<br><br>“Which shop, house thing?”<br><br>“Agatha Dunwich's place”<br><br>“Agatha? What do we know about her?”<br><br>“Pretty little thing.”<br><br>“Ain't got a man in her life, although that Cuthbert man hangs round with her a bit.”<br><br>“He's just a pretty boy. Ain't got no balls to him.”<br><br>“Keeps havin' tea with that Mexican woman and the English lady.”<br><br>“Makes machines or inventions or something.”<br><br>“It's that last part guys. She's got a whole shop there that's going to be full of bits and pieces we can sell for a profit. There's always someone who wants some flashy gubbins whether we know what it does or not. And I'm guessing her stuff isn't cheap meaning she's gotta have a lot of coin hanging around as well. And ghostrock. Those inventors always need ghostrock and we can make a damn killing on that.”<br><br>“So what's the plan?”<br><br>“Nothing complex. She ain't got a man at home so we just kick in the door, tie her up and ransack the place.”<br><br>“Sounds good.”<br><br>“Sounds great.”<br><br>“Sounds excellent”<br><br>“Don't you scum even bloody think of feckin' doing it.”</strong><br><br>Walt had stayed silent throughout the “plan” but now he turned and spoke to the group, his baleful eye having the merest glint of red to it.<br><br><strong>“It's a bloody stupid plan anyway. First, ain't Agatha a member of that damn group of mad scientists fella's? They ain't gonna take too kindly to you thievin' from one of their own. It's not like you're all completely feckin' inconspicuous is it? Then there's the fact she's a bloody mad scientist and I happen to have some blooming idea what she invents. Guns. Big feckin' guns that&nbsp; can cut a man apart and shoot quicker than a man can pull the trigger. You think she's just goin' to sit there and let you tie her up? She's gonna have a barking iron in your face before you can blink and at that range it ain't gonna matter if she ain't the greatest shot.”<br><br>“So what, you don't think we can do it?”<br><br>“No, I don't think you can bloody do it. And if I do hear that you tried to do it I will bloody find anyone of you scum who's left alive and give you a right bloody seein' to, you 'ear me?”<br><br>“Why?”<br><br>“Cos' she's a proper lady and I'm hopin she's gonna make somethin' for me.”<br><br>“Ah, I get it. You're sweet for her ain't you Walt? You want a nice bit of that redhead right?”<br><br>“Yeah Walt. You're thinking with your britches!”<br><br>“SHUT YOUR FECKIN' MOUTHES!”</strong><br><br>Walt roared as he powered to his feet, hurling the mug into the wall, his eye a murderous red, his face twisted into a snarl, his hands balled into fists, his heart pumping, his blood raging. There was murder in the air and the small group were sensible enough to shrink away from it.<br><br><strong>“You think I just want to fuck her? You think she'd have a second glance at a person like me? She's a proper feckin' lady and unlike you lunatics I know what I am. I'm scum. I was born in the blooming gutter and the gutter is where I've bloody stayed. Proper ladies like her don't look twice at scum like me and don't you insult 'er by thinkin' that she does. And don't you disrespect her. I eve 'ear about you plannin' this job again and I'll make you swallow your own teeth and piss blood for a month. Do you feckin' get it you slags?”<br></strong><br>A dull hush fell over the room, the sheer force of Walter's fury quelling any voices that dared raise against him. The red eye fell upon them one by one, the tattered man looming, a figure far larger in spirit than in body. Walter was in a killing mood and each of those here, despite only having known him a short time, knew it. They cowered away, scared of his wrath, terrified for his power. Even the donkey, an otherwise silent observor, hee-hawed and then defecated loudly.<br><br><strong>“Su... su... sure Walt. We'll leave Agatha alone.”<br><br>“You better had you feckin' scum. You know what, feck the lot of ya. What is this piss you're serving me? Boiled potato water?”<br><br>“But that's how you make alcohol Walt.”<br><br>“You're meant to do more than just boil the potatoes and serve the feckin' water Ethan. I want to go somewhere where there's actually a chance the drink has some bloody alcohol in it and a place where the whores don't look like a herd for bloody cows ran over it.”<br><br>“Hey!”<br><br>“Oh feck off Sally. When was the last time you got a feckin' punt who wasn't blind or blind drunk.”<br><br>“So where you heading to? The Den”<br><br>“The feckin' Den Billy? Where the goddamn judy's are so bloody strung out that they can't even blooming tell you're there? Feck that. I'm going to spend some coin on some actual bloody whisky and maybe a whore who'll act like she actually likes me. And don't you even think about doing anything to my bloody donkey!”</strong><br><br>And with that the tattered man strode from Stiffy's, virtually booting the cracked door off the hinges&nbsp; and made his way to the more affluent northern part of town. More than one person had a long look at the man in the ragged suit as he walked the streets but a single look of that eye, still with a hint of red to it, sent them scurrying on their way. It was not a long walk to the Casino Morongo and soon Walter found himself settled at the bar, glass of whisky in hand. It may cost a pretty penny but compared to the bilge he had been consuming it was like milk from the Virgin Mary's own sweet tits. The depth of flavour and the complexities held with in almost demanded it be savoured. That didn't stop Walter drinking three in quick succession. A good start to the night.<br><br>Who knew where it would end...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>06-05-2013, 22:01:18</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; &nbsp;Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Jia Li, Li-Li,<br><hr><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d1/Mrlee.png)</div>Lee leaned back against the twisted table while she took in the room, his hands running along the sides of it.&nbsp; When she began to speak, he raised his eyes, curious, the dim light reflecting off his spectacles and hiding them behind the reflection of light.&nbsp; <br><br>“Miss Somebody,” he mused.&nbsp; “Who wishes a meeting with e Captain.”&nbsp; He reached for a small bowl, stored near the head of the table.&nbsp; It was a mortar bowl, and with it he picked up a small pestle, taking dried greed seed pods from another bowl, and then a small chunk of ghostrock as well.&nbsp; The entire mortar fit into the palm of his hand, and he began to grind the pestle within it.&nbsp; <br><br>“That is a most intriguing proposition – and I am certain the Captain would be intrigued by it.”<br><br>He paused, the only sound in the room the grind of stone on stone, slow and careful.&nbsp; He considered her for a long moment, then lifted his gaze again.&nbsp; “Tell me, Miss Somebody – are you a student of history?”&nbsp; He continued to grind the poppy seeds – or rather, the milk of the dried poppy seeds – in with the ghostrock dust.&nbsp; “Perhaps I should explain – in Chinese history, there was once a great clash between two men, two warlords.&nbsp; One of these men retreated with his army into a castle that was considered unassailable, and closed the gates.&nbsp; The invaders surrounded the castle, but after testing its defenses found the accounts to be true; the castle was impervious.”<br><br>Lee stepped a little closer, the bowl still in hand. And reached around behind where Lilah had settled herself, dumping the contents into a jar of water.&nbsp; “To attack the castle would be to doom his own forces – so the army retreated, beginning to cut the castle off from supplies.&nbsp; They remained out of sight, and so the defenders sent out scouting parties to acquire additional provisions.&nbsp; A day later, one of the scouting parties returned, the army of the invaders in hot pursuit behind them.&nbsp; The defenders managed to open the gates, just as the scouts arrived, and close the gates against the invaders.&nbsp; Once again, they were at a stalemate.”<br><br>He gave a wan smile, taking a wooden ladle to stir the water, opium, and ghostrock filled mixture.&nbsp; “Until that evening.&nbsp; Then, the invader’s men, disguised as the scouting party, disabled the castle’s defenses and threw open the gates.&nbsp; The defenders were quickly slaughtered.”&nbsp; He sniffed at the ladle, as if he was preparing some kind of soup.<br><br>“So now, I must ask – Miss Somebody, who shows up with Law Dogs hot in pursuit upon her arrival – what reason do the Captain have to trust you?”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>08-05-2013, 02:15:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Mr. Lee<br><hr>Lilah might have laughed at Lee's parable, so preposterous it was that she could be leading an invading army even figuratively speaking, but she was unnerved enough by his slow preparation of the poison he must certainly use on the girls that nothing seemed very funny. He wasn't going to scare her, not like he probably wanted -- she didn't scare easy but she did feel a kind of dread in the air and her senses felt hyper aware like they got when you had reason to believe danger might be imminent. She watched him closely as he prepared his concoction though she didn't have the smarts to know what the ghost rock was doing in the mixture exactly but she knew in general ghost rock made everything worse or better, depending on your perspective, and she didn't doubt it just meant more bad news for the girls.<br><br>"I ain't never called myself a student of anythin' but that's a mighty interestin' yarn. I feel obliged to point out, however, the law god didn't follow me, he was already here, hangin' around outside yer place so make of that what ya will." She was proud to say she kept her voice calm and as she spoke, she pulled the black handkerchief that had been wadded up out of the back pocket of her dungarees and tucked it into the breast pocket of her shirt. "I'm just the messenger, the captain got no call to trust or not trust me. In fact, he shouldn't give a wooden nickel about <em>me</em> but he's gonna wanna hear this out." <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 19:20:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d1/Mrlee.png)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Jia Li, Li-Li,<br><hr>Lee kept to his task, working the last of the opium and ghostrock into a fine, cinnamon colored powder.&nbsp; His hands were steady and even, and by the time he’d finished his concoction, he’d made less than a spoonful of the substance.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;He examined the interior of the mortar bowl, seeming satisfied, then stepped towards Lilah.&nbsp; His eyes noted the tension in her, and for a moment she could sense a sinister approval of her fight or flight instinct.&nbsp; He paused, the small bowl in hand, and finally made a small motion with his hands, suggesting that she step to the side.<br><br>Behind her – she’d all but been leaning up against it – was a dark curtain that covered one wall.&nbsp; He pulled it back, revealing an adobe wall.&nbsp; The rest of the building was made of the same redwoods most of Gomorra had been constructed of, but Lee’s Den of Eastern Delights had this single wall of denser stuff.&nbsp; Cut into the wall were three openings, openings that were barred closed, cages with thick steel bars that rose to waist height.&nbsp; Things moved in the shadows of those cages, and propped in a fourth cutout was another, smaller cage, this one with&nbsp; thinner steel wire, and two dozen mice running around inside the cage.&nbsp; Lee simply upended the mortar over the top of the mice’s cage, letting the brown dust settle onto the fur of the mice.&nbsp; There was a&nbsp; manic squeaking, and he pulled the curtain closed.<br><br>In the shadowed cages below, the squeaking made something shift, and move.&nbsp; A centipede scuttled across the bars – but it was larger than any centipede Lilah had ever seen.&nbsp; It was as thick around as Lilah’s arm, and nearly twice as long, a hundred legs clattering across the steel bars as it climbed the interior of its cage.<br><br>“An astute observation,” said Lee.&nbsp; He noticed the black handkerchief, a brief sidelong glance, but kept his eyes to the cage of mice.&nbsp; The rodents had begun to attack one another, biting and clawing the other mice, tearing one another apart with tiny claws and sharp teeth.&nbsp; “And I trust you have no interest in wasting his time.&nbsp; Very well.&nbsp; I will contact someone on his crew, and the two of you can work out arrangements for this mutually beneficial arrangement.”<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>13-05-2013, 16:27:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6anzg7ITX1qdjxsro1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Graham Neiler.<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown.<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876.<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning.<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open.<br><hr> <br><br>Striding through the swinging doors of the Casino, Graham let his eyes adjust to the relative gloom within, squinting just a bit as he swept the area with his gaze. He'd gotten into town late last night, and his body was definitely feeling the mileage. First the train to Tombstone, then another to the railhead at Railhead, California. He'd gotten an old nag there which got him to Lost Angels, where he'd only managed to stay for a few days before he got the general intimation that he was none too welcome and ought to head on North. Riding guard on a caravan landed him at Lion's Roar, and he'd taken a train from there to Shan Fan, where he'd first heard of Gomorrah and the work to be had up thattaway. It had taken him quite a while, but he'd finally made it, worn out, nearly broke, and just about ready to put someone through a wall if they suggested he move on.<br><br>Folks weren't any too helpful to him at the Flophouse, but a couple of the older miner-types had let it slip that the Casino Morongo was a good place to meet new people. If he got lucky, someone here might be in need of a hired hand, or a hired gun. With that in mind, he went in with all his accoutrements about his person, scattergun hanging from his shoulder, big iron six-shooter at his hip opposite the long, curved saber on his left. He'd learned a while back that there were certain ways of wearing your gear to make it plain that however ready you might be for trouble, you certainly weren't looking for any; the best way was to hide it all under the folds of your one-size-too-big canvas duster. Even with that in mind, he'd only taken the shotgun due to the fact that his room at the Flophouse wasn't a solo bunking operation, and the door didn't even have a hook-and-ring lock to keep filchers at bay. He'd just have to deal with anyone who felt antagonized by the artillery, and hope its very presence kept things from getting too hot under the collar.<br><br>His eyes adjusted, Graham headed for the bar, sweeping his broad-brimmed hat off his head and dropping it down on the polished surface and following it up with a silver Dollar coin for the barman; he'd spent the last of his CSA scrip in Railhead, since he knew the further north he went, the less it'd be worth. "Cold brew to wash out the road dust, <em>amigo</em>?" He gave the guy his widest, friendliest grin, even though he knew it never reached his eyes the way it ought to if he wanted to put someone at their ease. Reflecting that he probably did still have some Shan Fan dirt stuck in his craw, Graham brushed at his sleeve absently, glad to see that nothing rose from his touch; he'd given the linens a good beating before lying down, and hung his clothes up for the same treatment. Probably ought to poke around and see if they had a laundry in town, just the same.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>14-05-2013, 23:27:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Mr. Lee<br><hr>The giant centipede might as well have been skittering up her spine and not across the bars of a cage for the creepified feeling it gave her knowing she'd been standing so close to it. She'd seen a lot of vermin street but never saw anything like that before -- it looked like something from a tall tale. And the mice, she didn't exactly want to watch the little critters tear each other up but it was hard to look away. She'd thought Lee was preparing something for one of his girls but seeing the effect that such a tiny amount had on the mice, she doubted that's what he was giving them. No, he wouldn't want them scrabbling and violent, not with paying customers' lives on the line. <br><br>Behind the unpleasantness she was being shown there was another issue -- Lee's game, whatever it was. The why of it, that he was revealing this to her -- the room, the powder, the critters -- just intimidation? Or was he just likely to show off to anybody who wandered in? One thing for sure, she would rather tussle with that damn centipede then be alone in a room with him again. Whether it was the black kerchief that done it or not, she was just relieved he was finally in the mood to wrap up business.<br><br>"Thank you Mr. Lee, much appreciated," Lilah said, knowing she couldn't afford to monkey around with the contact whatever her feelings about Mr. Lee. Lordy she was hankering to get out of this place. "If we can just get that arranged I won't trouble you any further."<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>18-05-2013, 08:59:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d1/Mrlee.png)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Afternoon, closer to evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Den of Eastern Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Li-Li,<br><hr>Lee looked up as she thanked him.&nbsp; He’d stepped closer to the mouse cage, where only a few of the murderous little creatures had survived, busy cannibalizing one another while he picked one up by the neck. It thrashed and tried to turn to bite at him, eyes hazed with a green film, and Lee offered a small, indulgent smile.<br><br><strong>”Tomorrow,”</strong> he offered.&nbsp; <strong>”Someone will meet with you tomorrow to discuss the particulars of arrangements.”</strong>&nbsp; He stroked at his chin.&nbsp; <strong>”The Rougher’s Diamond.&nbsp; Soddom.&nbsp; It is… as sacred a neutral territory as we are likely to find.”</strong><br><br>He bowed his head, as if trusting her to see herself out, then turned towards the cage which held the centipede.&nbsp; He spoke to it in Chinese, crooning at it like it was a pet, preparing to toss the mouse within to make a live, dangerous meal for the enormous centipede.<br><br>From within the other two cages, <em>things</em> watched Li-Li.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>24-05-2013, 12:04:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/27/Maxbaine.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Max Baine<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sweetrock (Vice President)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876.<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning.<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Graham<br><hr>Most of those at the Casino so early were gamblers coming off an overnight run and miners with bloodshot eyes and a hangover that made their heads ring.&nbsp; It was still early – not by an army man’s standards, to be sure, but early for the miners who saw their time in Gamorra as precious holiday from the perils of their day-to-day existence in the Maze.<br><br>A suspiciously sober bartender offered Graham a place at the bar, and the barman nodded, pouring up an ale that smelled… like ale.&nbsp; Not a twice watered down, warm as piss excuse for ale that had been found in most of the bars in Shan Fan, but a genuine draft that must have arrived via coach from some distant rail, then been cooled again locally.&nbsp; It seemed like genuine civilization, so far out in the west, and the barman offered Graham an equally cool smile.<br><br>“Start you a tab, mister?”<br><br>Behind the barman and Graham, another fella stepped into the Casino Morongo.&nbsp; Max Baine drew heavy, angry sorts of stares from most of the miners in the place, the kind that suggested they’d care to bury a pickaxe into his backside as soon as share a table with him.&nbsp; He wasn’t just a man who rubbed people the wrong way – this was a man who was genuinely, deeply hated.&nbsp; He offered a small smile in return for the local color staring him down.<br><br>“Gentlemen,” he announced.&nbsp; “I’d like to welcome you to the newest acquisition of the Sweetrock Mining Company.&nbsp; First round is on the house.”<br><br>“What?” said one of the miners, rising from his table.&nbsp; He picked up the glass, throwing it the ground.&nbsp; “I’d sooner drink dog piss.”&nbsp; He pushed over the table, growling.&nbsp; “I used to like this place, too.”<br><br>He wasn’t the only one to share the sentiment – just over half the patrons were rising to their feet, leaving half-empty glasses and unfinished meals on their tables.&nbsp; The man at the door lingered by it, miners growling and staring as they filed towards the door.&nbsp; He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, no matter how close they came to him.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>24-05-2013, 14:20:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6anzg7ITX1qdjxsro1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Graham Neiler.<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown.<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876.<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning.<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Max Baine.<br><hr> <br><br>"I'druther my tab ran backwards, all the same to you."<br><br>Dipping a hand into the pocket of his duster, Graham slid a thick silver Dollar across the bar, exchanging it for the foaming mug. <em>Down to ten,</em> he thought while nibbling the head of his brew, then taking a big gulp. Setting the drink down with a thump, the big Texan gave a nod of approval to the 'tender, smacking his lips to spread the taste around his parched mouth. "That suits me fine! Strong enough to stick a spoon in, and chilled just right."<br><br>Even as he bent his elbow for another pull, he half-turned in his seat to see who it was that had come in so close behind him. Immediately, he picked up that this was a pretty unpopular fellow around town, or at least among the working folks; not that such an observation was any kind of trick, seeing as how there were enough ugly looks shooting his way like knives in the dark. Of course, the face didn't mean anything to him, being so new in town, but the name Sweetrock sure did. They were the big brass monkey around here, with a reputation for claim-jumping and racketeering from all he'd heard.<br><br>From the reactions that announcement got, Graham figured that there might be something to those not-so-hushed rumors that had floated his way. When miners started getting to their feet and flipping tables, as one had done, Graham got a mite itched in the palm of his hands. He returned his mug to the bar for a refill, coincidentally freeing his hand so that it could wrap its fingers around the butt of his Colt and pull it clear of the leather holster. He didn't raise it into to sight, nor aim it at any of the man at all, but he slowly thumbed back the hammer. <br><br>From this angle, it could be that the erstwhile patrons were leaving in disgust, or they might be forming up into a lynch mob. If the latter, he'd rather have iron in his fist for any breakout of violence. Normally he would reach for the scattergun first, but there was no call for painting the walls red, just yet, and there were enough of them that six rounds would be better than two. Wait and watch, that was his plan, observe from a distance and mind his own business if there wasn't any call to get involved.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>26-05-2013, 21:44:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0b/Msgreene.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Miss Maybelle Greene<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Early Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Inside the Golden Mare <br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr>Miss Greene rose from her seat as soon as Ginny was reaching for the teapot, her eyes already flashing.&nbsp; Edward’s comment about her being a whoremonger barely registered – the woman had been called far worse, and far more creatively.&nbsp; But the spectacle was certainly <em>not</em> the sort of thing the Golden Mare was known for; those who wanted a rowdy night could find plenty of entertainment elsewhere in Gomorra.<br><br>“<em>Virginia Whateley</em>,” scolded Ms. Greene, in a tone that would have made Virginia’s mother proud.&nbsp; There was a cluck that followed it, and very nearly a finger wag, and she tossed an icy glance towards the southern ‘gentleman’ retreating towards the door.&nbsp; “I expect better of you.”&nbsp; Though whether she was referring to Virginia’s less than demure behavior or the suitor who’d managed to make such a fool of herself was uncertain.&nbsp; Edward she was happy to simply snub – denying his very existence as the only possible polite recourse after his outburst.<br><br>She gazed around the room, noting Virginia and Goudeau apparently on course to an exit together, and then glanced back towards Margeurite and Harley with a sigh.&nbsp; It <em>had</em> been a nice teapot, but she didn't care to present any sort of appearance that she was anything but unconcerned by the loss of such a simple item.<br><br>“Perils of trying to run respectable establishments in an frontier town,” she sighed, adjusting her skirts as if considering whether she should sit again.&nbsp; She offered them both a smile, instead.&nbsp; “I should – go attend to som business matters.&nbsp; We should all have breakfast together, soon.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>28-05-2013, 20:09:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/1/1f/Thetwitch.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Twitch<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876.<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Graham, Max Baine<br><hr>In a far corner of the Casino, a gambler’s eyes lifted at the commotion, as miners began to file out and cast their dour gazes at Findley’s right-hand man.&nbsp; Max Baine was a well known face, a well hated one – it was Max Baine who’d purchased so much of Gomorra’s mines on behalf of Sweetrock, and he might as well have been the Herald of Hell for his role in Sweetrock’s acquisition.&nbsp; While Baine returned their gazes, the gambler’s eyes studied him, a dangerous light glinting in them.<br><br>He slid his hand down to the gun at his side, running his fingers over the battered six gun and along the leather holster, taking comfort in a familiar friend.&nbsp; Graham might have seen the gambler’s particular brand of madness on a battlefield before; that gleam held some hint, some sure sign that <em>things weren’t right</em> inside his brainpan.<br><br>He squeezed the thigh of the soiled dove on his lap, pushing her up and off.&nbsp; There was a wide, almost feral smile on his face, and then he rose and spun a long coat over his shoulders, pulling the long blonde hair out from under the collar.<br><br>“The farmer takes a wife,” he sang, softly.&nbsp; “The farmer takes a wife.”&nbsp; He tossed back the remainder of his whiskey, finishing it in one long slurp and cracking it down on the table.&nbsp; “Heigh-ho, the derry-o, the farmer take a wife.”&nbsp; The words of the song were long, drawn out, making the children’s song a thing of melancholy rather than a children’s song.<br><hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/27/Maxbaine.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Max Baine<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sweetrock (Vice President)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876.<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning.<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Graham, Twitch<br><hr>Max Baine watched the bulk of the patrons leaving the casino, his smile painted on.&nbsp; Expected, perhaps, or simply too proud to beg them back.&nbsp; Or perhaps that had been the intention all along – to close down one of the places where women, liquor, food and entertainment were all of high quality and reasonably priced; or perhaps there were enough Sweetrock miners who wouldn’t be bothered by the change of ownership that this was to be a brief and uncomfortable transition.<br><br>But the tall gambler – or perhaps a gunslinger, from the way he wore that pistol on his hip – he caught Max Baine’s eye in a wholy different way.&nbsp; He strode like a Viking of old, broad shouldered and certain the world was ripe for conquest.&nbsp; The soiled dove who’d been sitting on his lap looked positively terrified, and the blond gunman leaned towards Max.<br><br>“The wife takes a child.&nbsp; The wiiiiife takes a child – “&nbsp; He leaned around Max, collecting a scattergun which had been propped at the weapon’s check near the door.&nbsp; He leaned it back on his shoulder, the double barrels pointing skyward, and straightened.&nbsp; He loomed inches over Max.&nbsp; “Heigh-ho, the derrrry-o, the wife takes a child.”<br><br>Then he turned, slipping out the swinging doors, still singing as he walked.&nbsp; From the street, strains of the song could still be heard.<br><br>“The child takes the cow…”<br><br>Max Baine looked around the Casino, now near empty, save Graham, card dealers, the bartender, and a trio of soiled doves.&nbsp; &nbsp;A half dozen patrons remained.&nbsp; Baine frowned, clearly more nonplussed by the blond gunslinger than he had been any of the surly, spitting miners.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>29-05-2013, 01:40:26</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/4c/Ginny_06a.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia 'Ginny' Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Early Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Marguerite, Harley, J.B. Goudeau, Maybelle Greene (NPC), Edward Baldrick (NPC)<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Goudeau knew how to follow the cue.&nbsp; A beatific smile was given in his direction as he offered his hand to envelop her own, almost like they both marched to a strange tune that only the genteel of the South could hear.&nbsp; Idle thoughts wondered how they would match on the ballroom floor.&nbsp; She could imagine that he would clean up nicely and be fit for one of the balls her Grandma held.&nbsp; Perhaps an invitation would be in order?&nbsp; And as a small reward, Ginny pressed a little closer to him, not quite touching, but surely narrowing the space between them.&nbsp; The hem of her outrageously large dress brushing the edge of his shoe even as she prepared to depart in triumph.&nbsp; After all, she had made her scene and scored her points against all the parties that had dared snub her, leaving her feeling quite pleased with herself.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Edward's outburst only made things better.&nbsp; Because even if he tried to be cutting or insulting, the truth was simple.&nbsp; He was a beaten dog, running with his tail and the tatters of his so-called honor between his legs.&nbsp; Soaked in tea and openly fuming.&nbsp; After all, wasn't he the one who had gone to all the trouble, traveled all this way to see little old Virginia Whateley?&nbsp; So any insult he could come up with was a reflection on himself and did well to show his utter lack of moral character.&nbsp; <strong>"Did yuh har that, Mistuh Godeau?"</strong>&nbsp; Ginny said, her voice honeyed innocence.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah wonder whatevah iz thu mattuh.&nbsp; Why it's almost like some'un dumped uh pot'otea on his head!"</strong>&nbsp; She made sure that her voice was loud enough that the retreating Lieutenant Baldrick could hear her.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; However, the remarks by her rival and then Miss Greene were not taken so lightly or dismissively.&nbsp; Ginny paused in her oversized bustle and pink, frilly dress, making sure to get every inch she possible could in height as she turned her nose up at both of them.&nbsp; It wasn't quite with the polished air that some could manage, but it would also suffice.&nbsp; <strong>"Tis true 'bout thu dresses 'nd ladies,"</strong> she tilted her heat to acknowledge her rival's wit and insight.&nbsp; But then gave her own riposte. "&nbsp; <strong>Pity yurs dun match." </strong> Reaching in a small purse that she was carrying in the crook of her arm, she casually pulled forth a few silver dollars, around three or five, she didn't bother to count, and casually scattered them directly at the feet of Marguerite.&nbsp; <strong>"Thar.&nbsp; Muh Momma always told muh tah take care o'thu poor."</strong>&nbsp; Another catty smile was given even as another sizing look was given, like a territorial cat making sure to let her rival know to tread lightly here.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; <strong>"Mebbe now yuh kin afford sumethin' a lit'le better than what yer currently wearin'..."</strong>&nbsp; Another dismissive look was given at Marguerite's dress though actually there was really nothing wrong with her clothes.&nbsp; They was perfectly fine.&nbsp; Ginny simply wanted her rival to feel discomfited and was going after the low-hanging fruit with a viciousness that few would match.&nbsp; There was twinkle in those green Whateley eyes and not a nice one at that even as she turned to stared at Miss Greene.&nbsp; Locking gazes with her in a steely way before another sniff was given in the older woman's direction to let the old biddy know that she didn't give a flip about what she thought.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"If we ain't welcome har, it ain't no problem.&nbsp; Plenty o'better places tah be."</strong>&nbsp; Her tone was measured and she honestly meant every word.&nbsp; Just because the Golden Mare was one of the finest establishments in Gomorra didn't mean anything to Ginny.&nbsp; After all, where she was, that's where the business would be.&nbsp; It was her coin that made or broke places.&nbsp; There wasn't a single owner that didn't want her gracing their doors with her free-spending ways.&nbsp; At least that's how she saw things. <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;So with her hand still firmly gripping Goudeau's, Ginny prepared to leave. Miss Greene didn't intimidate her.&nbsp; In the end, the other woman was also a businesswoman.&nbsp; A little coin and she would be happy to have Virginia Whateley back.&nbsp; For what Edward Baldrick said was true.&nbsp; Ginny did fancy herself the Queen of Gomorra.&nbsp; And it was a title she wasn't plenty on relinquishing to anyone anytime soon.&nbsp; Certainly not to some dark-haired beauty that had just come into town.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Though who knows?&nbsp; Perhaps this new arrivee could be someone fun to shop with.&nbsp; A <em>good </em>friend in the future.&nbsp; Ginny would have loved it, deliberately spending bags full of golden eagles in front of the other girl while smiling at her all the while.&nbsp; Silently telling her not to worry. it wasn't her fault she was so <em>poor</em>.&nbsp; Not everyone could be Virginia Whateley, after all.&nbsp; And here was another true adage that the young Whateley had learned at a tender age in her family.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<em><span class="bbc_u"><strong>Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer.</strong></span></em>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>29-05-2013, 02:23:03</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 'Ginny' Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Graham Neiler, Max Baine<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Life in Gomorra was aptly named <em>'Fast Country'</em> for a reason.&nbsp; Things had a way of changing on you in the blink of an eye.&nbsp; Towns sprung up overnight and disappeared.&nbsp; Long established businesses went bust in the course of a day.&nbsp; Yet the more things changed, the more things stayed the same.&nbsp; At least that was how it worked in the eyes of Ginny Whateley.&nbsp; For one, she would have never thought Deacon Sloane would have struck out for the east and sold the Casino for a tidy sum.&nbsp; The older man had always seemed to relish life out here too much though he was also a man of creature comforts.&nbsp; Perhaps he had grown tired of constantly needing to manage things.&nbsp; Though somehow Ginny suspected that it was possible that he would be back before too long.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;A man like Deacon Sloane couldn't live easy.&nbsp; It wasn't in his blood.&nbsp; She understood that much.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Still, the Casino had sold and what it meant for Ginny still remained to be seen.&nbsp; Bought by Sweetrock, it hardly mattered one way or another to the young Whateley.&nbsp; She didn't have an axe to grind like the rest; after all, her fortunes were secure.&nbsp; Though she did want to keep her table.&nbsp; And perhaps it was possible to negotiate a more favorable rate.&nbsp; Honestly, she didn't mind one way or another.&nbsp; The table was simply a way for her to pass time.&nbsp; But it didn't hurt to get a bigger slice of the pie if she could.&nbsp; In that way, she had picked up her father, Jebediah's, ways.&nbsp; He had a way of making sure he squeezed out every single cent in a deal.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;In fact, she was just busy running her table, business as usual, when things began to happen.&nbsp; Much like the high cards coming all at once.&nbsp; First, the appearance of a dusty stranger.&nbsp; New to Gomorra from the looks of him, but not new to the life.&nbsp; His being armed to the teeth and the way he held himself gave him an appearance of a man who had put more than one man in the bone orchard.&nbsp; Though he did seem to have a bit of a baby face.&nbsp; Ginny was even contemplating at making a casual pass at him since things were slow at the moment when things really picked up with the appearance of Max Baine, one of Sweetrock's own.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And with his appearance, things began to clear out as hostilities intensified.&nbsp; A strange way of doing business.&nbsp; Honestly, it didn't make too much sense in antagonizing your customer base even if you were flaunting coin openly.&nbsp; Though she suspected the miners would be back.&nbsp; They might have hated Sweetrock, but it would be hard to find a finer gambling establishment.&nbsp; Strange and stranger in her eyes as she casually shuffled the cards and dealt herself five of 'em.&nbsp; Then, gave a low whistle.&nbsp; Straight flush.&nbsp; All diamonds.&nbsp; &nbsp;About as rare as a hand as you would see in five card draw.&nbsp; It was a pity she wasn't playing anyone.&nbsp; Of course, her eyes casually looked right and then looked left for any trouble.&nbsp; Things had been kept tightly under control when Mr. Sloane had been around.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; No more guarantee that was the case.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Then, Twitch started up.&nbsp; Ginny knew of him; they played a few hands before.&nbsp; And she well understood that he wasn't all that right in the head.&nbsp; He was a few nuggets short of a full bag.&nbsp; While she was always content to take his coin and he hers, she also knew that it wasn't wise to get too close to someone like him.&nbsp; And singing proved it.&nbsp; The man couldn't really hold a tune worth a damn.&nbsp; The tensions crescendoed and then faded off when nothing happened besides a brief, invasion of personal space.&nbsp; Though Ginny understood it was quite significant.&nbsp; Much like roosters fighting for territory, Twitch seemed to have thrown his glove down.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; And staring a the drink that was offered by Sweetrock, Ginny casually tapped her fingers against the table.&nbsp; Signaling she accepted it and the first round, but was also upgrading it with her own coin.&nbsp; A half eagle was flashed and given to the establishment before her favorite whiskey was poured.&nbsp; A much finer quality than what had been initially served though she did use Sweetrock's coin to supplement the drink, showing that their attentions were not unwelcome to her at least.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Though a pout was given since there was no sense for a game around.&nbsp; So Ginny decided to go with her original idea and make eyes a bit with the newcomer at the bar.&nbsp; <strong>"Mind tryin' yer hand once oar twice? Ah'll reckon someun such as yerself might have a bit o'luck goin' fer them."</strong>&nbsp; Casually, she shuffled the cards again and dealt them to herself and peeked at them.&nbsp; Two pair, Jacks high.&nbsp; So hers was a half-truth.&nbsp; His luck would probably be pretty good, but hers seemed to be better at the moment.&nbsp; Though she might be willing to fold a few winning hands just to pay the time and make some small talk while waiting on Sweetrock's move.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;No point in letting the new guy know that though. He'd figure things out on his own soon enough. Or he wouldn't and he'd be a dead man.&nbsp; Either way for her; it wasn't really her business. <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;A slanted look with those Whateley eyes was also given to Max Baine's directoin.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah'd also invite yuh, Mistuh Baine. But ah'm not sure it'd be fair if ah were tah win against yuh."</strong>&nbsp; A sly smile was given, full of confidence about her skill and her luck, even as she took a drink of the rich whiskey with a sigh and then undid a button on the front of her shirt to casually flash a bit of white skin.&nbsp; It was so subtle, one might mistaken it for innocence.&nbsp; After all, it <em>was </em>hot enough in the Casino.&nbsp; Unless one knew Virginia Whateley.&nbsp; Still, no one was complaining 'sides the soiled doves who knew that it was hard to compete for attention in one sense.&nbsp; Even if Ginny wasn't being serious at all. about any man there&nbsp; She still took up marks and made it so the coins didn't follow so easily to the other women. <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And as always, she ignored their sideways annoyed glances like a duck might ignore water sliding off its oiled feathers.&nbsp; Was it her fault that others were drawn to her?&nbsp; It wasn't as if she <em>sought </em>out their attention.&nbsp; At least, not all that much.&nbsp; <strong>"It's always a losin' proposition tah take money from thu house.&nbsp; Lest yuh think differently."</strong>&nbsp; Another significant look was given, Ginny being genuinely curious to see how things would work now that Sweetrock owned the place.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>07-06-2013, 03:20:03</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6anzg7ITX1qdjxsro1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Graham Neiler.<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown.<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876.<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning.<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Max Baine, Virginia Whately.<br><hr> <br><br>Holstering his six-shooter and snapping the strap back into place atop the hammer, Graham drained his beer down to the dregs and set it down for the barkeep to retrieve with a quiet thank-you. That queer man had a hint of danger about him, not the kind he could read off a soldier from a mile away; it was more like a smell that pull the hairs on his neck to standing to attention. Rising up and turning towards the door, he gave the theatrical newcomer a long once-over, not bothering to disguise his slightly squinted perusal. "Congratulations on your purchase, mister, or that of your company if you prefer." he says by way of greeting, that slow drawl rolling clearly off his tongue. <br><br>Stepping over to the gambling table with a polite nod to the pretty dealer, he beckoned Baine with a casual gesture of one hand. "Join me an' the lady in a hand or two? I reckon s'all your money either way, ain't much of a risk to ya." Glass crunches and grinds under his boot as he steps through the shards left behind by the angry patron who had thrown his drink to the floor, removing his duster to reveal the short, heavy-barreled shotgun hanging close by his side. Pulling the sling from around his shoulder, he folds his coat over it and lays the bundle on a seat to his right hand, patting it gently as he takes the next to the left. All of his movements have a sort of grace, slow and full of care, almost like a sleepwalker but each one as purposeful as the next.<br><br>"What's the game, dahlin'?" he inquires of Virginia, taking off his hat and resting it with his other effects; running his fingers through cropped hair, he gets to behave more or less, laying it down along the curve of his skull. That done, Graham gives the lady a variant of the same appraising up-and-down that he gave Baine, though his eyes are more hooded than squinting in the gentler indoor light. Neither did he linger quite so on the man's admittedly non-existent decolletage. His eyes stray no longer than is polite, however, returning almost immediately to the Whateley madame's eyes, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth while his nostrils flare in a slow, deep inhalation. That last puts just the slightest bit more broadness across his already wide-set shoulders, drawing his back up into a rather military straightness.<br><br>"And mind you go easy on me. I'm dancin' with the devil just to pull up a chair 'cross from you, my pocketbook bein' as light as it is."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>14-06-2013, 19:43:39</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/27/Maxbaine.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Max Baine<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sweetrock (Vice President)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876.<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning.<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Graham, Ginny<br><hr>Baine gave a small, tight smile to Virginia Whateley.&nbsp; He wasn’t a man often seen outside the compound that Sweetrock did most of their business at – the first time he’d been seen in Gomorra, it was at an auction years ago – one where Sweetrock had taken full advantage of the greed of the people of Gomorra.&nbsp; He’d not often been seen outside often since then; his skin had the pale palor of a man who worked to stay out of sunlight, and a full head of raven hair had been shaved down to the scalp since she’d last seen him.&nbsp; His goatee, too, had picked up hints of salt and pepper, but more telling than anything on a man who survived eight years in fast country was the eyes.&nbsp; Max Baine might never have set foot on a battlefield, but he had certainly seen the elephant a time or two in his day.&nbsp; He’d put on twenty years in the eight he’d been in the Maze – and it showed in the eyes.<br><br>He shook his head at invitation – or at least, Ginny’s lack of one.&nbsp; He could certainly invite himself to the game, it being his establishment, but he didn’t seem to much care for the cards.<br><br><strong>”I gamble enough, Miss Whateley.”</strong><br><br>He smiled wanly at the congratulations, looking over one of the most-sought after pieces of real estate in Gomorra, now all but empty.&nbsp; The trio of soiled doves seemed to be regarding him with thinly-veiled distrust – Ginny’d heard a rumor that Baine had cut open a girl at the Perch, but everyone at Sweetrock had a whole passel of rumors about them at any time; the miners took great joy in inventing stories about the various shortcomings of the businessmen who had ‘ruined their lives.’&nbsp; For a moment he seemed tempted to offer Graham a considerably more acid reply – but he swallowed it and offered a nod, instead.<br><br><strong>”Thank you.”</strong>&nbsp; His eyes slid down to the six-shooter at Graham’s side and then back towards the door the blond gunslinger had disappeared out of.&nbsp; He looked thoughtfully at the doorway.&nbsp; He was still listening, though, curious if the newcomer was going to take part at the tables or follow the miners leaving the Casino in a hurry.<br><br>His head inclined slightly at the mention of pocketbook problems, and the wan smile widened slightly.&nbsp; <strong>”If you can handle that sixer, and you’re looking for work – “</strong>&nbsp; He gestured around.<br><br><strong>”Room, board, and wage for someone willing to handle any problems that might arise out of the… recent transition.&nbsp; Make it through the day and… we can figure out a wage this evening.”</strong><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>02-07-2013, 12:54:58</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0c/Doomtown2-Recovered2.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Walter Sinnett<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 5th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Scared Stiff Saloon and Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Max Baine, Graham Neiler, Open<br><hr><strong>“So, you enjoy your swim last night then Walter?”<br><br>“Do you want a slap Billy? Cos' the way you're goin' you're goin' to get a feckin' slap son.”</strong><br><br>Billy the Knife sniggered as he walked away, Walter's eyes staring daggers into his retreating back. The Scared Stiff saloon was rarely busy in the mornings. That's not because the reprobates and rascals that made up its regulars were off doing an honest day's work... none of them would have known a day's honest work if it reared up and bit them in the arse... but because of any given morning they were usually too busy sleeping off the previous night's excesses to do anything else. Some didn't even make it out of the bar; Walter could see a pair of legs he thought belonged to Dirk sticking out from under an upturned table and hear the dull rumble of snoring. But somehow Billy the Knife was not only awake but here and basically alert. And the grimace on Walter's face showed exactly what he thought about that.<br><br>Shaking his head Walter sipped at the whisky in front of him as he sat at the bar, following it up with a big swig of coffee. It was that sort of morning after that sort of night. A bowl of what was optimistically called porridge sat to the side, barely touched. Ethan was busy trying to clean one of the few glasses the place had. Walter never saw the point. Chances were it was just going to get smashed over someone's head anyway and more then that have you ever seen someone with one arm try to clean a glass? Walter doubted Ethan had been the most house-trained of people when he had both arms and now here he was trying to clean a glass with one. Walter half suspected that Ethan had seen a barman polishing and cleaning glasses one time and now thought that was what all barmen did. Bollocks to it. But being a bartender did mean that Ethan had one ability shared by bartenders across the world. The ability to be talked at. Not to. At.<br><br><strong>“You know the bloody worst thing Ethan...”</strong><br><br>Ethan barely answered, merely arching a single eyebrow.<br><br><strong>“... I didn't even bloody end up in the bloody drink. Yet here I am sat on my arse with Billy the feckin' Knife thinkin' he can crack on at me about it.”</strong><br><br>Ethan merely nodded, continuing to rub the glass awkwardly. At the other end of the bar Walter's donkey, now a veritable regular, munched on some feed that Handsome Taw had found somewhere.<br><br><strong>“It was that bloody lawman... what did you say his name was...?”<br><br>“Nathan, Nathan Hunter. And I'm not so sure he's a lawman any...”<br><br>“Hunter, that's the bugger. It was him who went for a dip and had to doggy paddle his way out. Me? I kept nice and dry on the side and what do I get for my trouble? Shouted at by some damn bint, I have to run halfway across this bloody town with a group of people I don't know and don't like, catch sight of God bloody knows what, have a damn bridge collapse and now I get feckin' ribbed by a feckin' idiot like Billy. Teaches me to try to be a bloody hero.”<br><br>“You got that sword at least.”</strong><br><br>Walter protectively ran his hand over the unfortunate officer's sword, the scabbard now strapped to his hip with some crude string under his duster.<br><br><strong>“Guess I did. Nice lookin' blade at least. Wish I'd got back in time to half-inch his boots as well. They looked decent.”<br><br>“You may want to get rid of the sword though Walt. Pretty quick as well.”<br><br>“Feck off Ethan. What, you turned into a feckin' sword merchant 'ave you?.”</strong><br><br>Walter took another sip of whisky, following once more with the coffee.<br><br><strong>“It ain't that Walt. You hear what happened after you left?”<br><br>“Nah, I was too busy chasing feck knows what around like I just feckin' told ya.”<br><br>“Well I wasn't there but the story is the guy you got that sword off was some Confederate officer.”<br><br>“So bloody what?”<br><br>“A Confederate officer who was meant to be with the army.”<br><br>“And?”<br><br>“So he's a deserter.”<br><br>“And that means?”<br><br>“Well, if you're just a trooper and you desert they'll hang you if they catch you but they're not going to go hunting for you. But an officer? They put a bounty on your head.”<br><br>“Well he's dead now ain't he? And it ain't like that feckin' beast is goin' to go claim the reward. What's that got to do with me and this blade?”<br><br>“As the story goes, after you head off some bounty hunter shows up looking for that officer. Now, he see's the dead body but it isn't really recognisable is it? So he needs something to take back to the army so he can get the bounty, the army not being given to believing any stranger when he walks in and says he killed a bounty.”<br><br>“And?”<br><br>“Well, there's a chance there was a locket or something on the body but if I know officer types they like to get inscriptions on their swords. I'm thinking that blade you've got has one on it.”</strong><br><br>Walter half drew the sword from its scabbard, glancing down at the flowing script that was engraved into the steel.<br><br><strong>“Bugger.”<br><br>“So what you've got there Walt ain't just a blade. It's also the proof needed to collect a rather substantial amount of money.;”<br><br>“Bloody 'ell. So what happened to this feckin' bounty hunter?”<br><br>“He tried picking a fight with a drunk Bilton and got himself shot dead.”<br><br>“Bilton? I've never met the bastard but I thought he was just a bit of a bully boy. That's a feckin' surprise.”<br><br>“Not as much as it was for the bounty hunter.”<br><br>“Well, at least he's dead then.”<br><br>“Yeah, but he isn't going to be the only one is he? It's a pretty substantial reward after all. And you're not exactly inconspicuous Walt. From what I hear a lot of people saw someone with a big hat walk up and take the sword before shouting at some girl in an English accent. Considering the only other person in town with an English accent is Lady Boyle that doesn't make it hard to work out who took the sword.”<br><br>“Feck. You got a chisel?”<br><br>“A chisel?”<br><br>“To get rid of the bloody inscription. If it don't say nothin' it's no use to any bloody fool lookin' for a reward.”<br><br>“You could just get rid of it.”<br><br>“Feck off. What am I goin' to do? Throw it into the bloody drink? No chance of that... I took it right fair and square I did and I ain't just giving it up. And I ain't going to be able to sell it am I? Can't imagine there's too many feckers tryin' to hawk sabres around and if people know the feckin' story you just told me a merchant ain't goin' to want a flock of bloody bounter hunters descendin' on them lookin' to take the sword. And I ain't goin' to go bloody ridin' off to claim the reward myself... not with those bastard hunters waiting to ambush my arse. So, you got a bloody chisel?.”<br><br>“Not on me. Try Miner's Peril. Full of that sort of stuff.”<br><br>“Feck.”<br><br>“You alright Walt? I mean, you're hitting the whisky pretty early, even for you. And the good stuff as well.”<br><br>“Feck off Ethan.”</strong><br><br>There was a long pause as Walter finished off what whisky remained in his glass and did the same to the coffee. Experimentally he prodded at the fork embedded in the porridge but the thick mixture had set solid through neglect. Finally he sighed.<br><br><strong>“Listen Ethan, I'm only telling you this because I hate you a little less then every other bastard here. That thing last night.... that thing... it was feckin' wrong.”<br><br>“What even was it? I've heard people say it was a bear.”<br><br>“I've seen a bear. It weren't no feckin' bear. It weren't normal, weren't no proper creature. It was somethin' dark. Was feckin' huge but moved as swift as feckin' anything. I'm fairly sure we put some bullets in it and it didn't even notice. It didn't ignore them, didn't even have the decency to look pissed off. It just didn't even bloody notice. And it could move. It could move like nothin' I've ever seen. Quick as hell and then jumped into the air like... like nothin' I've ever bloody seen. If it weren't for the lack of fur and the bloody moon not being full I'd have said it was a damn werewolf.”<br><br>“A werewolf? You're joking right?”<br><br>“Do I look like I'm feckin' joking?”<br><br>“But... a werewolf?”<br><br>“Too bloody right. Listen Ethan, Gomorra and this whole bloody “fast country” or whatever the feck you call it. It's a dangerous place right, no doubt of that. And you've got some strange shit showing their nasty mugs around here. But it's all in the feckin' light. During the day the sun beams down and during the night a thousand feckin' stars shine on you. London ain't like that. London is dark and dank and narrow. Bad things lurk in every cramped alley, in every shrouded feckin' corner. I know... I was one of them. But there are things out there Ethan... things that even I get a bloody chills over. Things that ain’t natural. Things that go bloody bump in the night. And that thing... that was one of them.”<br><br>“So what are you saying then Walt?”<br><br>“I'm sayin' that what did this... that that creature... it's somethin' new Ethan. It's somethin' dark and it's somethin' bad and it ain't somethin' us feckers have ever had to deal with before. It ain't a drunk miner, it ain't a man with a gun, it ain't an Indian raid and it ain't a bunch of outlaws. It ain't even a feckin' Maze Dragon sittin' in the water. It hunted us Ethan. It hunted for pleasure. It didn't even eat those poor bastards. What sort of creature kills for pleasure Ethan? Humans do... I bloody do... but what feckin' manner of beast comes into a town and tears people apart for the damn fun of it?”<br><br>“You hear it raped that Boyle lady...”<br><br>“Don't you ever spread that feckin' nonsense Ethan. That Boyle lady is a feckin' English woman and I won't have you feckin' colonials disrespectin' her in my feckin' earshot, you bloody get me. I won't have you disrespectin' her outside my feckin' earshot either, it just might take me a little longer to find out you did. She's a proper feckin' lady and you will not be tellin' tales about her getting' fecked by a beast from the feckin' black lagoon.”<br><br>“Jesus Walt, I'm only saying what people said happened.”<br><br>“And what feckin' happened depends on what people feckin' say Ethan. If people are goin' around sayin' she been fecked by this creature then that's what happened. But if people ain't sayin' it then it never bloody happened. You get me?”<br><br>“Sure Walt. So what now?”</strong><br><br>Walter sighed and pushed his stool back, glancing down at the empty coffee cup and the empty shot glass.<br><br><strong>“Well I could sit here and drink myself feckin' silly but I rather figure there's a little more to do then that. I once met a bugger...”<br><br>“Is this going to be one of your stories again Walt? I'm still trying to get over the one about the man you beat to death with a walrus penis bone...”<br><br>“Shut up Ethan. So yeah, I met this bloody man and he was a right clever sod... smarter than me anyway... and he said that where other people saw challenges he saw opportunities. Sounded nice that did. Didn't help him anyway.”<br><br>“You kill him?”<br><br>“Nah, not me for once. I just ended up drinkin' with him. Normally I don't like smart bastards... it's why I get on with you...”<br><br>“Gee, thanks Walt...”<br><br>“... but he was a good sport and could tell a crackin' yarn. Got stabbed for his coin purse a couple of days after I met him. But what he said stuck with me. “Opportunities, not challenges”.<br><br>“So what does that mean?”<br><br>“I don't like bein' hunted Ethan. I don't like bein' hunted by thugs, I don't like bein' hunted by the law and I like bein' hunted by some bloody beastie even less. I like bein' the hunter. And I like bein' the hunter even more when I can get bloody paid for it. And I think there's an opportunity to do that right 'ere.”</strong><br><br>And so Walter stood, made sure his new blade was hidden well away within the folds of his duster, made sure his hat was fixed firmly to his head and headed across town towards Casino Morongo, now the centre of business for Sweetrock in Gomorra itself. You basically needed to sign away your soul to Sweetrock if you wanted to get onto their mesa and Walt didn't have much of a soul to give away at the best of times. He nodded his head at the bouncer, some other new arrival in town who looked fairly handy with the shooter at his side before striding to the bar. The place was likewise fairly quiet at this time of day, a few hardy drinkers and gamblers dotting the main room but Walter paid them little heed. A jerk of his head brought the bartender over.<br><br><strong>“Go and tell Mr Baine that Walter Sinnett is 'ere to see him. I've got a proposition.”</strong><br><br>As the bartender nodded and scurried off Walter settled back, eyes running over the place once again.<br><br><em>Opportunities. Not challenges.</em>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>13-04-2014, 22:18:12</strong>
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				<div align="center">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/e/e6/Reloadedbanner.png)</div><br>All posts after this juncture are part of Doomtown Reloaded.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Entertainment! (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>07-05-2014, 21:38:49</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0c/Doomtown2-Recovered2.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Walter Sinnett (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9812108#msg9812108)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Walter starts out wanderin' through town but ends up at the Scared Stiff Saloon. <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, the usual bunch of malcontents that waste their hours at Stiffies, Walter's Donkey.<br><hr><hr>Something stank of fish.<br><br>And it wasn't just the fact that Sweetrock had access to the only working dock in Gomorra.<br><br>Walter never really smiled but he'd quickly let whatever expression he had on his face that at least somewhat resembled a smile disappear as he left Mr Baine's office, the semi-permanent scowl now permanently fixed on his features. Long, pacey strides carried him through the long corridors of Sweetrock, out onto the mesa and across the bridge down to Gomorra proper. No-one tried to stop him or made the mistake in attempting to engage him in conversation. Walter cut through the evening as the darkness began to settle like a man who belonged there. Down Temptation road, across the town square, a single grimace dismissing the revellers who were beginning to tumble out of Babel's Tower sodden with drink. Even these men and women, their faculties loosened by liquor, had enough reason left to realise catching the Tattered Man's attention was a remarkably poor idea... and if they didn't then they had friends quick to throw an arm around their shoulder and suggest that even something as innocuous as offering a greeting may quickly lead to what had been a pleasant evening taking a rather sour turn. Walter Sinnett was a man apart, a man alone. And so the man apart walked through the town square and into the maze of narrow alleys and cramped buildings that made up Miner's Peril. To the closest place he had to home here in Gomorra.<br><br>To the Scared Stiff Saloon.<br><br>Stiffies was nothing special to look at. In fact from the outside one would likely consider it a derelict building. The front was shabby, the wood warped, panels missing, what little paint was left cracked and faded. One lonely swinging door hung desperately to a weak and loosened hinge, creaking softly in the weak breeze. Of its partner there was no sign. Perhaps it was part of the scattered debris that littered the ground outside the saloon. Perhaps it had been stolen. Perhaps it had simply fallen off and faded away, never to be seen again. The inside was no better. There was no bar, at least in the conventional sense. Instead a contraption consisting of little more than several doors nailed together and propped upright served the purpose. None of the furniture matched and each chair, stool or table was missing at least one leg. Best not to ask where they had gone... or where it had come from to begin with. The building had originally had two floors but from the way the odd plank jutted out below a roof that failed to keep out the occasional rain it was clear the upper floor had collapsed long ago. Perhaps material from that had been cannibalised to keep the rest of the saloon in working order... or at least as close as this place came.<br><br>In some places in the world there is the concept of a “villain watering hole”, a pub, bar, saloon or restaurant where the ruffians and ne'er-do-wells would congregate and plot, hatch schemes, buy and sell stolen goods, drink, fight and generally make a nuisance of themselves. They were the dark heart of petty thievery in an area, the hub of its street crime. Long-in-the-teeth lawmen learned to tolerate such places, some even to embrace them, for it meant it was easy to keep tabs on the ragamuffins and scum. Walter was used to places like that... his old local the Nag's Head was exactly such a place, a place where the worst of the worst of Millwall used to congregate, a place famed throughout the East End.<br><br>Stiffies... <em>wasn't</em>.<br><br>Sure, it was full of scum. There was no doubt about that. No-one went to Stiffies by accident... hell, if you didn't know any better than you wouldn't think it was a saloon at all, just a run down house a gang had taken over. But few went their by choice either. All the things one went to a saloon for... drink, entertainment, women, food... were missing from this wrecked shell. The drink was vile... cheap and only occasionally strong, the only entertainment was the frequent arguments and occasional punchups, the only woman was Scabby Sally and she barely counted and there wasn't any food outside of what the patrons brought in and the occasional bowl of stew, porridge or gruel which would send a starving man on a fast. But it wasn't a villains pub either. The clientelle were the worst of the worst of Gomorra but that just meant they were pathetic, not that they were particularly dangerous, devious or deadly. They were chancers and grifters, the have-a-go hapless, the “one big score”ers, those with big dreams but simple imaginations and even less ability to actually implement an idea. Sure, they pulled small cons, they stole little things, hell every so often one of them got brave enough to commit an actual robbery... although admittedly normally when the person they were robbin' was either asleep or passed out. But compared to what else one could easily find in the Fast County? These poor mugs were exactly that. Mugs and poor. There weren't the richest, the weren't the smartest, they weren't the toughest, they weren't the strongest and they sure as feck weren't the most villainous.<br><br>But they were the closest thing to a family Walter 'ad and so there he was in all his dusty glory.<br><br>The scene in Stiffies was the same as it was pretty much every other night. Ethan, the one-armed owner and barman, was stood behind his sorry excuse for a bar tryin' to do an impression of an actual barman. Billy the Knife, Dirk and Apache Matt were sat at what passed for a table playing cards, let down by the fact none of them had any money to gamble, none of them knew what game they were playing and the fact they didn't even have a full pack of cards. Sally and Taw were stood in a corner chattin'... Sally because it was still too early for anyone to be drunk enough to want to spend money on a night with her and Taw because no-one wanted to play cards with him after the great evil Queen debate of 1875 and because Ethan was angry at him for bringin' in a cage full of rats that he'd intended to sell. Stiffies bein' Stiffies, Taw bein' Taw and rats bein' feckin' rats of course the cage had bloody broken and the buggers had got loose. Walter wasn't sure what the issue was... they'd never eaten as well in Stiffies as they had the next few days... but Ethan was perhaps the only man in the world who could be houseproud of a shithole like Stiffies and the fact that to this day you could occasionally see a furry face peak out from behind a cracked wooden panel made him right bloody mad. And of course, there was the smartest and most sensible of the Stiffies crew... Walter's donkey, tied up at the far end of the bar and happily munching on barley straw.<br><br>Walter of course went to sit by his donkey.<br><br>Bein' a man tryin' to do a good impression of a barman, Ethan had immediately pulled out a glass that looked only slightly dirty and was about to fill it with what passed for whiskey in this place, but a shake of Walter's head made him pause, a look of confusion settlin' on his face.<br><br><strong>“You don't want whiskey Walter?”<br><br>“Not that bloody whiskey Ethan. Get me the cheap stuff.”<br><br>“The <em>cheap</em> stuff?”<br><br>“Yeah, I said that didn't I? Get me the bloody cheap stuff?”<br><br>“You know what the cheap stuff is right?”<br><br>“I bloody do Ethan and I bloody want it... so pour me a bloody glass.”</strong><br><br>Walter was lying. He didn't know what the cheap stuff was. No-one outside of Ethan did and he wasn't tellin'. What Walter did know was what the cheap stuff was <em>like</em>. Once upon a time Walter had accused Ethan of sellin' whiskey that was nothing more than potatoes and grain boiled in water and then cooled down. This was the stuff that was worse than that. This stuff... Walter imagined it had probably been the potato water once, then Ethan or some other bastard had drunk it, let it flow around their body for a few hours and then pissed it back into the glass. Tasted like that anyway. But the key here was two things. First, it was barely bloody alcoholic and despite his tolerance Walter had gone through a fair amount of whiskey tonight. Now, Walter was not a man given to worrying about bein' sober or drunk and quite honestly, he probably preferred life drunk to sober. But he wanted his thinkin' head on for the moment and with too much drink his thoughts tended to drift. To battles, buggerin' and bloody swan-necks. Secondly, the stuff tasted so bloody vile that it kept you on your toes. And Walter needed to be on his toes.<br><br><strong>“It stinks, don't it donkey?”</strong><br><br>The donkey raised its head from its nutritious meal and clapped what could only be described as a quizzical eye on its so-called master. Walter didn't know if donkeys were meant to have quizzical eyes but his bastard donkey did and that was good enough for him. And he was pretty sure he wasn't really the donkey's master. Donkey was probably using him as a way to go on a bloody adventure. Walter didn't mind though. The donkey might be usin' him so it could go on adventures rather than waste its life on a bloody farm but Walter was usin' the donkey so he didn't have to walk and carry all his shit to get to his bloody adventures. And because donkey wasn't a horse. Walter bloody hated horses.<br><strong><br>“There's just somethin' not bloody right about this whole feckin' place.”</strong><br><br>While the comment could have applied with absolute accuracy to Stiffies, Walter's aim was far wider. Because there was something not quite right about Gomorra. About the whole feckin' powder keg Walter found himself perched on top of. Mad scientists, outlaws, ghostrock, redskins, bloody chinamen, law dogs, creepy families, greedy businesses, half-burned feckin' madmen, angry miners with dynamite and each day more and more of them pourin' bloody in. Even without that thing, the whole place was a mess. But you couldn't put that thing aside, couldn't hide from it, couldn't run from it. It had been out there, Walter had bloody seen it, he'd chased it and he'd even shot at it and it was still lurkin'. What Walter did and what Walter was worked because Walter knew his world and knew his place in it. And he knew his place was at the top of a foodchain. Sure, there'd be people smarter, sure, there'd be people richer, sure, there'd be people with more connections. But when it came down to it there was no-one scarier. Sure, some bastard with a rifle parked in a clocktower may technically be deadlier... but Walter wasn't just about killin' people, he was about terrifyin' people and the thought of Walter huntin' you down with blood on his mind and time to spare when it came to tortutin' you? Yeah... that was what made Walter. Because he was bloody scary. But here, in Gomorra, in this Fast County, in this Great Maze? Walter weren't feelin' quite so scary anymore. Sure, he could still send drunken revellers runnin' for cover and no sensible person wanted Walter lookin' for them... but compared to a damn beastie? Feck it, compared to all this other mess? Walter was thinkin' his time as an alpha predator ain't really lastin' that long.<br><br><strong>“And somethin' aint bloody right about this deal.”</strong><br><br>Walter weren't smart but he weren't stupid either. At least, not that stupid. Mr Baine had told him to not think of Sweetrock as a business but to think of it like a gang. Walter knew feck all about businesses. He knew the feckin' lot about gangs. And this weren't how gangs worked. Yeah, listen, you did a good job and you got moved up the ranks, that part was right. And Walter had done a good job for Sweetrock. But he'd done a good job haulin' bodies around the Great Maze and droppin' them in the drink, a good job scarin' and occasionally givin' a slight beating to a bunch of miners who didn't know any better. And at most he'd had to kill a couple of people. That was simple stuff, easy stuff. No real challenge, no real danger. And suddenly he was bein' put in charge of takin' down every rival faction in the bloody Fast County? Of takin' over every mine in the feckin' area? A man like Mr Baine standin' there and listenin' to Walter's advice on a large bloody operation? Yeah, that didn't happen. Not like that anyway. You only believed that if you were a bronzehorn or whatever the feck term these damn yanks used for some rookie who didn't know shit from a shovel. You didn't move straight from a bloody foot-soldier to a feckin' vice president (whatever the feck that was) and the test you had to pass to move up the ranks wasn't turnin' yourself into a bloody mining magnate.<br><br>Here's the thing. This was a bloody coup. Walter could see that. Feck it, Mr Baine had pretty much spelt it out himself. The Findley fellow was somewhere else and Mr Baine wanted it all while the cat was away. Fair play. Walter had taken part in coups before although they didn't call them coups, they just called it kickin' the crap out of whichever poor bastard in charge had taken his eye off the ball and missed how ambitious his underlings were. Walter didn't mind that it was a coup. He didn't owe the Findley bugger anything. He hadn't talked to the bugger. He hadn't even bloody seen 'im as far as Walter knew. He didn't really give a toss if Mr Baine stole the whole bloody lot out from under Findley. What he did care about was that his neck was on the line.<br><br>Walter knew that was how it worked. He'd been part of how it worked. When you started with a gang the risks were huge and the rewards were small. You did what you were told and you took some pennies home. You got caught and you served a stretch... or you got your neck stretched. You moved up the ladder and the rewards became bigger... and because the rewards became bigger you could afford to pay off the people you needed to pay off to make sure you never suffered the consequences. Feck it, you got high enough and some bastard started calling you the “thieftaker general” and then you started sellin' out your rivals and made even more money. Mr Baine was at the top. He had guards and money and his position to protect him. Walter? Walter had his knife, his wits, his fists and his donkey.<br><br>The fact was, Walter was exposed here. Let's say it all started to go wrong, lets say Findley showed up or one of the goddamn armies or Walter did his job a little too well and everyone started hatin' him. Mr Baine could deny it all. Walter was an outsider, a Brit abroad, a relative newcomer to Gomorra, a man not exactly noted for bein' sensible or cautious. It wouldn't be too outlandish to think Walter had gone off script, headed out the reservation and cut away on his own. Mr Baine could say Walter was merely a mad dog who had gone feral, not a loyal dog followin' orders. And who would deny 'im? Sure, Mr Baine would get his knuckles caned for not keepin' one of his own under control but Mr Baine was a man who was basically still bein' burned alive... why would a slap on the wrist bother him. Walter would get dead.<br><br>Again, Walter didn't mind that. That's how the bloody world worked. Walter went off and did the killin', the men above him made a killin'. Walter could take that. As long as he wasn't bein' set up.<br><br>On some level Walter didn't mind bein' set up. Because there was an understandin' see. You could set up Walter but you had to keep in mind that there would be consequences. And those consequences normally involved you bein' flat on your back, missin' your fingers and toes, at least one eye put out, your tongue hacked off, your bollocks forced down your throat, your penis cut to pieces and your guts bein' used to strangle you to death. All while your last sight was everyone you ever cared for bein' tied up in front of you and set on fire. That was the price of settin' up Walter Sinnett. And it worked because of Walter Sinnett's reputation, because of where he was in the food chain. People didn't set up Walter Sinnett because he was so feckin' terrifyin' and the consequences of doin' it were so painful.<br><br>But why would a half-dead man care about the consequences? And don't you remember the thoughts we just had on where Walter fell on the scale of terrifyin' things in Gomorra right now?<br><br>Walter weren't just feelin' exposed, he was feelin' vulnerable. Back in rainy London he had his reputation... a reputation earned through blood and death... to fall back on, to protect him, to make people think twice about setting him up or feckin' with him. Here? Who could tell him from bloody Adam? He was just another bastard, just another orphan washed up on the streets of Gomorra lookin' for his future. No-one gave a toss about him. Not yet. And to begin with the fact that people gave a toss about him just made him a target. No, he'd have to earn his reputation again before he could rely on it for protection. And that meant people tryin' to kill 'im. And Walter killin' them.<br><br><strong>“You're as much help as usual Donkey.”</strong><br><br>Walter didn't know if he was bein' set up. And he hadn't lied when he spoke to Mr Baine earlier. Sweetrock... and that meant Mr Baine... had given him a chance and if Mr Baine was true to his word they were givin' him one hell of one now. He did owe them for that. And he did want to do serious harm to the Twitch. Perhaps he'd been a little more forceful then he actually felt but the grain of truth was still there. But he Walter had walked down enough dark alleys to know he could be gettin' set up. Not just to be a fall guy in case everythin' went wrong, but as a pawn bein' moved by some bastard who wasn't gonna' explain what the bloody game was, let alone what Walter was doin' in it. Walter took a sip of a cheap stuff, grimacing and almost retching as the bitter liquid went down, fighting every step of the way and clawing at his throat. That's the spot.<br><br>So Walter “Do Down” Sinnett had to be bloody careful. And he had to be sensible And Walter “Do Down” Sinnett wasn't known for bein' careful and he wasn't known for bein' sensible.<br><br>But whatever happened he'd have a lot of bastards to kill.<br><br>And that made Walter Sinnett happy.
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