A Night In The Grey Horse Saloon (Naco Proposes)

January 8, 1873

It is Monday evening

[Ylsa] At first glance Ylsa appears to be a typical, albeit very dark Mexican woman. A second glance, however, reveals that she carries a great deal more Indian blood than the average Mexican. Her hair, blue-black and poker straight, seems pure Indian. Her features follow a more Spanish cast - they are sharp such that her face is drawn in straight lines. Matching her hair, her large eyes also seem black; only in close proximity can one note flecks of brown coloring the irises. Ylsa is of delicate build on a 5'0 frame, but a distinct thickening of her waist and curved bulge in her middle suggest she is pregnant. A vibrant aqua-blue men's tunic, which refuses to stay on both of Ylsa's shoulders at the same time, is belted at her waist and drapes over a flaring grey-and-maroon ankle-length skirt. Ylsa wears black leather boots and a matching belt, from which hangs a slender dagger in custom sheath. Her long hair hangs in a tight braid, captured thereby with a black silk ribbon.

Above on the balcony, Wilona moves off towards the saloon below.

Wilona walks over from the stairs.

[Wilona] The woman before you is petite, at just under 5'3". Her features are small, narrow hazel green eyes beneath thin brows, small pouting lips and prominent cheekbones. Her complexion is smooth, the soft beige skin just beginning to show the 33 years she has seen. Tiny wrinkles surround her eyes, becoming more apparent when she flashes her friendly smile, which is often.  In spite of her fragile appearance, her voice has a strong steady inflection, a deep husky timbre which she never permits to be heard raised in anger. She is dressed in a gown of deep blue sapphire, the velvet material hugging against her hips before pooling at the floor. The bodice clings against her skin, the neckline plunging deeply to reveal ivory skin beneath. Over the gown, she wears a short coat of black velvet, most of the black onyx buttons left undone, save two at her waist. Generous amounts of material went into the careful tailoring of the sleeves, their billowing ending at tightly buttoned cuffs. Her hair has been left free of pins, the deep red curls taking on an amber hue in the evening light, falling past her shoulders. The constant movement of her hands draw your attention to a small silver banded ring that is on her hand. It's carved into a weaved pattern and surrounds green jade stones.

At the counter, Ylsa is finishing up the last touches in getting ready for the anticipated evening rush - making sure all the glasses that can be crammed onto shelves are, making sure the dirty bins are empty. Water handy, the clean towels have been exchanged for old. Ylsa is currently stooped behind the bar, sorting through something under the counter.

Wilona sidles up to the side of the bar casting a half-hearted glance around the room in a survey of the faces. She sighs then settles onto a stool opposite Ylsa. "Have you seen Travis today?"

From under the counter, "Travis? No, I do not think so. I thought that his father tells him he does not come in here, no?" Ylsa's face peeps over the edge of the counter, and her voice softens, "You look tired. Do you want something to drink? Did you eat today?"

Wilona just nods, leaving the true answer to the questions undecided. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and leans over the counter, curiosity winning out, "You lose something?"

Ylsa grins, "No, I was just trying to see what was back here." Ylsa produces, for your elucidation, a man's pocket watch, three combs, a pearl and what appears to be the rattle from a snake. And she rises and stretches, only a shadow of the feline-movement it used to be, then turns a glass over, "Rum, brandy or whiskey, 'Lona?"

"Rum please." She picks up the rattler, shaking it back and forth till she falls into a soft giggle, "Think this belonged to Al?"

Another glass is turned over, then. Ylsa won't let someone drink rum alone. Well, some ones, but other ones definitely will get her company. She grins at the comment. "Yes. I think he left here so fast he must have broken that off on something." Ylsa collects the pearl and rubs it clean, then drops it in your glass and pushes it over to you, "Drink to the new year?"

Another sigh, but Wilona lifts the glass to stare at the magnified pearl inside it. "Yes. Another year." She takes a light sip of the rum then sets the glass down, "Do you think he will ever find his way back to Maddock?"

"Who?" Ylsa looks at you, then the pearl, then suddenly blinks frightened, "You do not mean Travis, do you? He is not missing?"

Christopher walks over from outside.

Wilona shakes her head, swirling her finger along the top of the rum till the pearl rolls clockwise along the bottom of the glass, "Will."

Christopher strides into the saloon, lifting the hat off his head instantly, and heading straight for the bar.

Ylsa stands behind the bar, leaning on it and talking with Wilona. A line of interesting dusty small items is on the bar between the women, and Wilona sits on a barstool on the customer side of the bar (I think). Ylsa stares steadily at Wilona, then answers, "I do not know, 'Lona. If he is..."

[Christopher] Christopher is a tall man in his late 20's early 30's. His sandy blonde hair brushing the collar of his shirt, the unruly curls tamed only by the occasional combing of his fingers. His hazel eyes are warm, flecked with jade and azure. His skin is tanned and lines etch the corners of his eyes from many days spent beneath the sun. A white cotton shirt covers his broad shoulders, tucked into black pants. An ivory handled pistol is tied low on his right hip.

Wilona looks up at the movement in the mirror and watches Christopher grow closer, she turns and offers him a smile, "And I thought the girls were just seeing a ghost."

Ylsa looks up too, and purrs his name, "Christopher." Well, purrs it as long as one can purr a three-syllable name.

McCain saunters over from outside.

Wilona is seated on a stool looking towards Christopher who just entered. Ylsa is behind the bar.

Christopher sets his hat down on the bar, grinning widely, "Well, don't you look purty, 'lona. As usual." He winks at Ylsa and slides onto a stool right next to Wilona.

Christopher glances over his shoulder at McCain, nodding cursorily.

McCain strolls into the saloon and gives the place a quick examination before walking to the bar. He waves a little to get Louey's attention.

McCain orders a whiskey from Louey

And unasked, Ylsa pulls a whiskey for Christopher, setting it in front of that man. A look at Louey, and then McCain, indicates that the portly bartender should see to the other customer. Ylsa watches Chris.

Louey wipes his damp hands against his apron and gets a whiskey for McCain.

[McCain] Jackson McCain used to be a big man, but time has thinned him. He is a few inches over six feet tall, with dark grey hair and steely grey eyes. Age has attenuated his once-muscular frame, but he is still quite a handful. His movements are sure and certain, quick but not rushed. His open black longcoat reveals a white shirt and leather vest over brown canvas pants and black boots. A brown gunbelt carries two .44 Smith & Wesson revolvers and a good number of filled cartridge loops. A simple brown hat sits on his head, unrelieved by hatband or other ornament. His hooded gaze has a certain amount of 'what do you want?' in it. He seems always on the alert, keeping his eyes and ears open.

Wilona snorts and starts to turn back to face Ylsa, distracted momentarily by a study of McCain. "Been a while Christopher, can't say as I expected to see you back around these parts." She glances at Ylsa then back to Christopher.

"I was called away for the army, 'Lona, but I'm back now." He takes that whiskey from Ylsa, giving her a wide intimate smile. "'Have some unfinished business with pa."

Around the other side of the bar is too far for Ylsa, so she trails around the side and up to Christopher, setting her drink on the bar beside him. Effectively, this takes her out of customer-serving district. One of the women who hangs over the balcony has been trained for this instance - she heads down and takes up residence behind the bar, smiling at McCain. Booze is n't all she sells, mister.

Christopher raises that whiskey glass to Ylsa, saying her name, "Ylllssa."

McCain drinks his whiskey all at once, trying to cut through the Montana cold. It's not better, but it's a start. His glass goes back on the bar, and his fingers wave again -- and look who's here... A small, appreciative smile for the lady newly arrived behind the bar. "Another."

Ylsa chuckles and leans against him, into him for a kiss if he is so obliging, "No, 'Lona. He was gone forever, wasn't he?" Her arm trails around his waist, then and Ylsa shakes her head. "I did not believe it either. That he was back." That he lived.

Wilona smiles acidly, then finishes her drink, careful not to swallow the pearl in her glass. "Well maybe this new year will be a year for more then just Christopher Quintan returning from the grave." She pushes the glass away and picks up the rattler again. *shake*

She'll get you another, McCain. The lady quite nearly pours herself out of her dress, as well as pours another whiskey. And she murmurs, pointedly ignoring her bosses' (gotta pretend like you don't know that they could be watching, you know), "Name's Silky. What's yours, Cowboy?"

Farissa moves over from outside.

Christopher does lean down and kiss Ylsa, squarely on the mouth, in a rough, cowboy-like way. Then he Grins. A look at Wilona, "Pa hasn't been after you, has he?"

Farissa comes in, throwing the door open then slamming it shut. She discards her jacket, shaking out the snow onto the wooden floor, "Lord in Heaven it is mighty cold out there!"

McCain takes his whiskey and spares a look at it before returning his attentions to his bartendress. "McCain, Silky. But I'm no cowboy." And you knew that already, I'm sure. A quick look over his shoulder for Farissa of the Grand Entrance.

Silky doesn't even cast a look over at Farissa. She's all smiles and eyes for McCain, here. But another gal on the balcony calls down, "What you doing -out in the cold-, Farissa?!"

Wilona shakes her head resisting the temptation to make a flippant comment. "No, to the one aspect he has been behaving himself. Maybe it's the Grandfather in him." She hardly sounds convinced.

Christopher's eyes look side-long at McCain, and then Farissa. He looks her up and down, like any man would. But one long arm is snaked around Ylsa's shoulders, pregnant or not.

Farissa hangs her coat on a peg near the door then smooths down her skirts. This action of course includes a quick tug-tug at her bodice, just to make sure it is low enough. She hollars up the balcony, "Working harder then you were most likely!"

Farissa primps her hair then siddles up along side the Tall Stranger at the bar, "Whiskey, Louey. This girl's gotta get warm."

And Ylsa looks quite comfortable leaning as she is against Chris. Her eyes are half-lidded, lazily, and she reclaims her drink, since she doesn't appear to be in any imminent danger of being manhandled. Silky, down at her end of the bar, stares daggers at Farissa, "Louey, the help drinks at the end of the bar." Like where Wilona and Ylsa are? But she turns a sweet smile right back to McCain, "So. I've seen you around town. You do cut quite the figure." And quite the reputation.

McCain downs his second whiskey and puts his glass back on the bar for a refill. "Thank you, miss. You don't do half-bad yourself."

Christopher looks down the bar at McCain and reaches across her to offer his hand to the man, "Christopher Quintan." He's so direct, and a little rude sometimes.

The Help! Look who's _serving_ drinks, Lady. Farissa pulls out a coin and sets it down on the bar top as cool as can be. She winks at Louey, "Make it a double."

Wilona turns, more interested in the stranger than the scene Farissa is attempting to make on the other side of him.

McCain cocks an eyebrow at Christopher. He's seen much ruder people than young Mr. Quintan. He takes the hand to shake. "Jackson McCain. Pleased to meet you."

While Louey, long versed in hiding his amusement in his heavy jowls, serves Farissa, Silky preens at McCain's compliment. Chris, however, doesn't garner any appreciation as -he- tries to steal McCain's attention next. Silky pouts, just slightly, but spends her time eying McCain's clothes. Expensive?

The hand is shaken, "New in town?" Most folks /think/ Chris is new in town, but far from it.

Farissa sighs, making faces at Silky now that the Stranger's back is turned. She sips at her drink and makes the same appraisal of his clothes.

McCain shrugs, frowning a little. "I've been around here for a year or so. Working for the mining company." But not mining. The clothes certainly don't say miner. They're reasonably nice, but worn. The guns and other gear are in _excellent_ condition. "But things change."

If he keeps his guns in good condition, he probably has bucks. And you know about what they say about a man's guns, with respect to his... Silky enjoys her work. She sticks her tongue out at Farissa, then runs it across her lips, suggestively. A dare? A challenge?

"Yup, they do." Christopher draws small Ylsa closer to his side, finishing off that whiskey with one smooth move of his other hand. The glass is set down hard on the counter.

Farissa leans closer as if trying to eavesdrop on the stranger. She deliberately knocks over her whiskey sending a small stream along the bartop towards McCain, "Oh Dear! How clumsy of me."

Karl strides over from outside.

Benjamin saunters over from outside.

McCain turns at Farissa's exclamation. "There there, don't worry..."

Benjamin stands in the doorway, shaking off snow. "Mighty cold out there."

Christopher stands at the bar, holdin Ylsa damn close. Wilona is to the other side of him. He's sitting on a stool.

McCain continues... To Silky, "Do you have a towel back there, darlin'?" He's been waiting for someone to try to get his attention.

Farissa beams at the trickle of attention McCain gives her, then casts a triumphant look towards Silky.

"She's -such- a clutz," Silky murmurs to McCain, "It's a wonder she leaves any of her customers alive, after she's done with them." A little smile to Farissa, "Towel's on the end of the bar. Where the help drinks."

Karl steps aside as Benjamin enters, shaking off the snow from his hair. His movements are slow and a little uneven.

Christopher looks at Benjamin, then nods to him.

Call it sixth sense. Ylsa looks at the door when Karl walks in, and looks at Karl. She stiffens slightly.

[Karl] He's a tall man in his late 40's or early 50's with a full head of hair that has salt and peppered with age. His complexion is dark from so many years in the sun and the wrinkles give him an air of toughness. A thin freshly healed scar marks the side of his face. He is dressed in a white cotton shirt, overwhich he wears a brown vest of soft leather. When his jacket is removed, one can also see a long ragged scar from elbow to wrist upon his right arm. Holstered low about his hips along his left side is a small colt pistol.

Farissa glares then stomps off towards Wilona, Ylsa and Christopher. She picks a spot near Christopher to lean over the bar and grab a towel. Whoever might be glancing in the mirror is afforded a freebie peek.

You sense Christopher's arm tightens, feeling your reaction.

Three attempts latter Karl manages to hang his jacket by the door and turns to survey the room and its occupants. He has to squint.

And Silky now smiles at Farissa. Pity the woman can't appreciate it, -leaving- as she is. But not long. She leans back over the bar in front of McCain, ignoring those entering for this prize. "You don't look much like a miner, Mister McCain."

Christopher doesn't say a word, yet, to his father, but he does catch that freebie, and grins.

Towel in hand, Farissa returns to The Stranger Known As McCain and dabs up the spill.

Karl saunters up to the bar, although to the naked eye it appears to be more of a drunken swagger. He stops before the trio of his discontent and tips a hat that isn't on his head. "Evening."

Wilona offers a muted "Mr. Quintan." in greeting.

Christopher moves a little, so Ylsa is furthest from Karl, "Pa. You look like you should be home." His eyes narrow, deep lines fanning from the corners of his eyes.

Ylsa's gaze on Karl is steady, alert and tense. She shifts her arm around, as much as she can within Chris' one-armed hold, to get her hand near the reassurance of the knife Ylsa wears on her hip.

Benjamin also walks over to the bar, blowing on his hands to warm them. "Whiskey, please."

Karl answers with a loud snort then drops a dollar bill on the bartop, "Whiskey!" He eyes Ylsa, staring at her widening waist line. "Good Lord Christopher, you didn't waste anytime did you?" He makes no attempt to hide his disgust, he's just too drunk to care.

Ylsa murmurs to Chris, while trying to pull away from him, "I am going to kill him, if he makes any trouble in here, Chris." Just so you know.

Christopher says none-too-quietly, "Not my get." But his arm is like a rock around Ylsa. Karl is his /father/. He'll have /none/ of that, Ylsa.

Wilona sighs and slips from the chair to a standing position. She notices Benjamin and smiles, offering a quick wave.

Louey, getting the heck away from Silky, Farissa and their prey, and the Quintan entourage over There, is more than happy to serve Benjamin first, then slowly, hesitantly, to serve the elder Quintan.

Benjamin smiles at Wilona, nods to Louey, and puts some money on the bar to pay for the drink.

Karl finds this of all answers amusing. The drink disappears down Karl's throat the moment Louey finished pouring. He addresses Quintan as if Ylsa isn't even present, "I'm wondering if the wh-woman even knows WHOSE get it is."

McCain gives Karl a look. One of those sizing-up looks. Is he going to be trouble? A quick look at the bar as the spill goes away. "See, all better now." And another smile at Silky. "Another one for me, please," then *slork* his whiskey's gone.

"Now I am just going to kill him." That, even quieter, "Get out." --That, so Karl can hear. Ylsa blazes a barely subdued anger. "Get out of my saloon."

Farissa sighs, staring into her now empty whiskey glass. She gives McCain a pitiful puppy dog look. She sure looks thirsty.

Christopher looks down at Ylsa, frowning, "No. Stop it, Ylsa. He's done nothing." Christopher is frowning at Ylsa!

Silky is more than happy to oblige McCain with another whiskey. The more the drink the quicker they are.

Technically speaking, Chris is right. Ylsa tosses her head, but quiets.

Karl laughs harder at this! "/Your/ saloon?? Is that what she told you?" He points at Wilona and then laughs again, "You best check your sources there, Mrs. Allard.. oh wait, /is/ it Mrs. Allard anymore?" His cheeks grow rosy from his amusement.

McCain knows his limits. He's had years to find them. At Ylsa's blazing, he slides his fresh whiskey toward Farissa. "Keep an eye on this for me." His own eyes watch Ylsa, Christopher, and Karl in the mirror behind the bar.

Merritt walks over from outside.

Merritt closes the door quickly behind him, muttering imprecations against the weather.

"Mendez." Ylsa minces that out and doesn't even -look- toward Wilona. "My Saloon. Half. Si."

Christopher says, "Now Pa, that kinda talk isn't called for. What, you been drinkin' all afternoon?" A free hand rubs over Chris's rough, unshaven chin.

Farissa taps her fingers on the bartop in frustration at the lack of attention McCain is paying her. Hell, she's a far sight better to look at then Karl Quintan, especially a Drunk Karl Quintan. With a sigh she starts sipping from the drink she should be 'watching'.

Merritt stomps the snow off his boots as he heads over to the bar. By the time he gets there, he's already pulled a cigar from his breast pocket.

Karl shoves a few coins beside his empty glass and waves louey back over, "As a matter of fact since this morning I believe." He focuses his attention on Wilona, which is a bit of a feat for him, "So you told this ere one that she own's half the saloon, half a saloon that /you/ don't even own? Now that's a hoot, I gotta try that one myself sometime."

By the end of the bar, Christopher stands with Ylsa firmly in arm, Wilona and Karl nearby. Not too far from them are Farissa, McCain and Benjamin. Louey and a gal named 'Silky' are behind the bar.

Benjamin sips his whiskey, watching Karl. Not that he's trying to eavesdrop, but to be able to get out of the way of a drunken gunfight.

McCain would much rather watch Farissa, or Silky, or both. But Potential Trouble has this nasty habit of turning into Real Trouble when you're not looking. And people end up dead. McCain's not ending up dead this day. So he watches.

Christopher shakes his head, choosing to remain quite for now. Though he /will/ defend Wilona, if called upon, and dad surely does know that.

Out of respect for Christopher, or for whatever other reason folks may ascribe her, Ylsa remains stoic, jaw tight. She stares at Karl, no doubt giving him the 'evil eye' - wishing upon the man every ill known, impotence high on the list.

Wilona's face reddens at this, her small hands clenching the material of her skirt into tight fists. "Karl, your so drunk you don't even know what your sayin', why don't you go on home."

Ownership? That always gets some of Merritt's attention. He casts an eye in Karl's direction as he lights his cigar. "Bourbon," he mutters to Silky when she makes her way over; Louey busy with Karl's drinks.

Bored by the scene everyone else seems so enraptured by, Farissa looks for entertainment elsewhere. She smiles towards Merritt.

Bourbon with a twist? Silky turns an inviting smile on Merritt that might suggest what sort of twist. She procures his drink.

McCain gives the daparting ladies a quick look and a small shrug. He puts his whiskey back in front of him and keeps his eyes on the mirror, while one hand tucks his coat back out of the way. Just in case.

No twist. At least, not in Merritt's bourbon. Silky's smile is met easily enough as Merritt takes his drink, and the banker even has an answering smile for Farissa. After all, a grown man can only have so much patience with germanic bargirls and their fathers.

Karl drop the subject, for now, and then looks at Ylsa. Ayup, he sees that 'evil eye' in fact he gives it right back at her in his exaggerated drunken way before looking back at Christopher, "I never considered you a whore'n kind of man, Christopher, leastwise settling for a man's breeding throwaway when there's so many other fine /white/ ladies to be had in Maddock."

Yes, and a grown banker--Er, man, could certainly -afford- more interesting... Vices. Silky lingers around Merritt, "Mister Merriit, but you're looking a bit chilled this evening. Maybe you could sit closer to the fire?" And she drops her voice, "Or I could bring a little fire right her closer to you?"

McCain stops even pretending to pay attention to his whiskey. He knew a right fine Mexican woman himself, many years ago... Still, he just watches.

Farissa rolls her eyes at Silky's offer. Seeing that she's just not bound to get lucky twice in as many hours, Farissa finishes her (McCain's) drink and heads towards the stairs.

Sabine walks over from outside.

Sabine slips into the saloon and smiles all around.

Sabine looks towards the bar.

Wilona is standing by the bar near Ylsa, Christopher and a very drunken Karl Quintan. McCain stands just down the bar aways and Merritt is seated at a table.

[Silky] Silky Brown is one of those tall, long-legged Jessica Rabbit numbers whose artist painted her in darker colors: Black hair, curled, brown skin - probably mulatto blood somewhere in her veins, and palest brown eyes, well made up. She's slightly underweight for the day's fashion, but fills out her floosy dress admirably.

Farissa moves off towards the stairs that lead upwards.

Above on the balcony, Farissa walks over from the saloon below.

Above on the balcony, Farissa hurries off towards the west hallway.

Christopher tightens his hold on Ylsa, before letting her go. He leans his broad back agasint the bar, crossing his arms across his chest, "Gawd, you think you'd have something on your mind besides who I'm with."

Merritt stands at the bar (not near the Karl crowd) with bourbon and cigar in hand, and Silky Brown potentially in attendance.

Sabine dusts the snow off her coat, and slowly slips the gloves off her hands. She glances over at Silky Brown and smirks, slightly, as if she could do better.

Benjamin stands at the bar too, in an less crowded area.

Ylsa casts an uncipherable look up at Christopher before she steps away from the man, to pad around to the farther side of elder Quintan. As she passes by Wilona, Ylsa touches the other woman with a light brush, meaning reassurance.

Best prove it, woman, if it's going to be proven at all this evening. Merritt takes a sip of bourbon, to take the edge off, before he smiles again at Silky. "You'd have something to warm a man's... bones... would you?"

Don't you think, Ylsa, that because Chris let you go, he isn't watching you. Nor you, Wilona. Chris just knows his pa too well.

Karl shrugs, "Ain't nothin' nearly as interesting as all that just now." He turns on 'Lona, even going so far as to boldly wrap an arm around her shoulders, "Less'en of course Lona here wants to entertain me. Huh? How about it."

Sabine slowly reaches up to touch her hat, brushing off the snow first, and slowly unpins it, letting her hair fall down, and cascade down her back. She shakes her head slowly, letting the curls fly loose.

You think you can do better than Silky Brown, Miss Sabine? Well, she'll just send you packing like she did Farissa. Hah. Silky catches the other woman's look and just smirks, before leaning, lounging, legging along Merritt's edge of the world, "Oh I got something to warm a man's bone, Mister Merritt. Anytime." She doesn't say 'anywhere'. She knows better.

Sabine is new, and doesn't look well used, like you, you old Hag, Silky. Fresh Meat over here. She smiles and turns towards the bar. "Evening, boys." A twinkle in her eyes, a fresh, pleasant smile on her face.

Wilona stiffens, stepping to the side to try and extricate herself.

Amber colored eyes fall on Wilona -- close to his same age, he's known her since she came to Maddock. She should know she can count on him. "C'mon, pa, leave Miss Jenkins be."

Now the look that Ylsa gives Chris is harder, faster. She just pulls herself away from doing something immenently (and typically Ylsa) stupid - like edging a knife between Wilona and unwanted company. Ylsa is not in any real physical shape to be fighting.

O'Brien strolls over from outside.

Merritt's eye is caught by the motion of cascading hair. Not to the exclusion of Silky, mind you - a woman ignored is a dangerous woman. But one doesn't come to run Allard's bank without appreciating the finer, and sometimes more challenging, things in life.

O'Brien enters the saloon and heads directly to the bar, nodding greetings to those inside. "Certainly a cold one tonight."

O'Brien orders whiskey from Louey

Louey tosses the rag he was cleaning a glass with over his shoulder and gets whiskey for O'Brien.

Too many people, too many too near. Ylsa spins around, then drops away from the tangle of people, still casting her looks at Chris. She heads to the other side of the bar.

Sabine slowly approaches the bar, tossing her hat and gloves onto the bartop. She sits, gracefully. She gifts Mr. Merritt with a smile, and then appraises the rest of the men in the room with a practiced eye.

Anderson moves over from outside.

Karl lets Lona go, but not before planting a kiss on her cheek. He raises his hands to show Christopher, and perhaps it's for Ylsa's benefit too, that he was just having a little fun. "Christ a man can't even go out an enjoy himself these days without even his /son/ telling him how to behave.

O'Brien sets the book in his hand on the bar and waits for the barkeep to tend to his order, gradually warming himself. Sheesh. Fr. Isen didn't bother to tell anyone about winters here.

Merritt puffs his cigar, "You're a darling woman, Silky Brown. And you know that, in this winter's cold, thoughts of you keep me warm." So does bourbon, though. Hrm... gifted with a smile, Merritt does find himself curious.

Christopher grins at Karl, making room at the bar, "Lemme buy you a drink, pa." Christopher may be the only man in town that actually likes Karl. Or maybe that behavior is just sitting in his genes, waiting to come out.

Sabine 's smiles are gifts. She has all her teeth...unlike SOME people here.

O'Brien pays Louey for the whiskey as it arrives and drinks half right away.

Indeed, too many people. Silky glances guiltily toward the bar, where she is supposed to be, -whenever- one of Ylsa's is here. And more arriving. She draws in a sigh, dropping a whispered promise to Merritt, "The real thing tastes ever so much better than the wish, Mister Merritt." She winks, then, before heading around to try to help Louey behind the bar.

Anderson knocks the (sheesh) snow from his shoes, tosses his coat over a chair, and heads for the bar.

McCain taps a finger on the bar, idly. Waiting to see how the son handles the father.

O'Brien looks about at the folks in here. Hmm...not a bad crowd.

Ever the devout one, Karl notices the Priest nearby and makes a half-hearted apology regarding his use of the word Christ. He nods to Christopher, "Now that's more like it, a son buying his pa a drink."

Silky is more than happy to intercept you, Anderson. "Drinking tonight, or playin' mister?"

O'Brien grins and nods. "Sure 'n it's alright, sir. I've heard worse."

[Anderson] He's a lean man, no more than average height, wearing a well tailored suit and snowy white shirt. His face is slightly lined, but his mustache and close cut black hair show no sign of grey, and his dark eyes are sharp. A city creature, he seems, and not suited for the frontier.

[O'Brien] Standing about 5'8" and weighing about 150 pounds, he's not very imposing physically. However, the pug nose and cauliflowered ear speak of a past where his fists were the most important part of his body. His hair a dark brown and his grey eyes under heavy brows, his visage is one who's seen much. He is dressed in a long black cassock, with a wide sash about his waist. At the collar, there is a stiff white celluloid strip. Dusty shoes appear as he walks. In one hand he carries his breviary.

Christopher looks across the bar at Ylsa, giving her a /pointed/ look. Then he asks her, "Miss Ylllsaa. A couple a whiskey's, if you pleased. And the good stuff, too." It's another wink he gives her.

O'Brien finishes his whiskey and orders another to chase the chill.

Karl offers a swaying hand towards O'Brien, "Karl Quintan."

Anderson stops and grins down(?) at Silky. "Drinking. Tonight."

O'Brien takes the swaying hand and gives you a firm handshake. "Father Terrance O'Brien...but most folks call me Father O."

Sabine smiles, and then says, cattily towards Silky. "Would it possible for a girl to get some service, honey?"

One of the last things that Ylsa wants to do is to serve Karl Quintan. Chris knows her well enough to read this in every taut line of her frame and face, but she does, managing the entire feat without -once- looking at Karl. Actually, Christopher is simply poured two whiskeys, the way Ylsa thinks about it. Karl who?

Merritt chuckles softly. Silky reminds Merritt of a miner come to the bank to borrow money, offering as collateral the piece of land that is the miner's claim. Sooner or later, if Merritt wants it, he knows he can have the piece. Easily.

O'Brien releases the hand. "Can you tell me if Father Isen's about? I was told to look for him."

Karl smiles, "Can't say as I've had the pleasure, Father." He shakes firmly, "Father Isen? Ain't seem him since Church." (Last Christmastime.)

Benjamin looks up, for a voice he just heard. Terrance?

Silky is probably as tall as you, Mister Anderson. You like them tall? She does. But she flounces down the bar to Sabine, "Well, dearest, I'd be glad to service you, but you're not my type. If you'd like a drink, however..." There. That should separate the women from the... Other women.

Christopher gives Ylsa one of those long intimate glances, just as he slides the whiskey across the bar to his dad. See? No hard feelings. It is a careless toss of the whiskey down his own throat. Can't you just see it? Karl and Chris walkin in a drunken stupor across Maddock and then home? He offers O'Brien his own hand, "Christopher Quintan."

McCain is tall, but Silky got sulky and left him. Instead, he taps the bar with his whiskey glass to get Louey's attention.

O'Brien sighs. "Well, the Bishop did say that it was possible that he had left to return East, but he was not sure." Father O takes Christopher's hand and shakes it. "Good t'meet you both."

McCain orders another whiskey from Louey

Louey sets down the rag he was cleaning the bar with and gets another whiskey for McCain.

Sabine looks down her nose at Silky, and tsks softly. "A whiskey please." You old hag you.

Karl scratches his head, "Uh huh. So they sent you to take over for him?"

Christopher senses "Ylsa swallows, and stares at you for a long moment, before you turn away to greet the Father. It's the barest of nods, before she too turns away."

Anderson laughs and closes the distance to the bar. "Whiskey, please." He asks Louey. Louey may not be pretty, but he looks unlikely to be distracted by participation in a catfight.

Ylsa regards Chris for a moment, then turns to head down to the other end of the bar and serve McCain herself. "What did you want?" Her question is curt, distracted.

O'Brien smiles a bit and shrugs. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. The only thing I was told was to look for Father Isen. I suppose I'll have to wire the Bishop and see what he wishes me to do."

Silky Brown is not only not a hag, but she's as -smooth- as her namesake. "Whiskey, then, ma'am." --Drawled out, to imply age.

McCain gives Ylsa a small nod. "Whiskey, por favor." It's a perfectly fluent accent.

Since Karl is other-wise occupied, Wilona extricates herself from the place along the bar and moves behind it near Ylsa. "Where are the rest of the girls?" She asks, noting the full house.

Christopher says, "Who's father Isen?" Chris has been gone a long time. And don't you think Chris isn't paying attention to you, Ylsa. Nosir, he's got his eyes upon you. He'll get to you later. You just wait.

O'Brien quietly sips on his whiskey now, ignoring the question that the one lady asked the other. That there is a cathouse associated with the Saloon doesn't surprise him.

Sabine glances over towards Wilona, briefly, sizing her up. Not the sassy looks she's given Silky, but a more inquizitive nature.

O'Brien says "The priest who has been here for quite a while. The Bishop felt that he might need an assistant."

McCain warrants another look then, from Ylsa - focused. She nods, pouring the drink, and answering Wilona, "Farissa is upstairs, angry. Silky works for me sometimes, Meemee and Sasha moved to the Lady and Janie has... She can't work right now."

Sabine gives Ylsa her attention now, her sweet mouth frowning as she gets a calculating look.

Wilona sighs looking upwards and then back at Ylsa, "Did I know Sasha moved... nevermind, don't answer that. I'll go see who I can round up."

Karl nods, finally finding his drink and doing it some justice, "Well now, there's a town meeting two weeks from tonight, I reckon you'll have your answer from the Bishop by then. Till then, I'm sure Father Isen wouldn't mind you putting yourself up at the Church." Isn't Karl grand, Maddock Welcome Wagon to boot.

Ylsa nods to Wilona. "I think that maybe this woman here, she might work..." A barest nod to Sabine.

Christopher is just glad to see is dad doing somethin other than hassling women. He goes, predictably, quiet.

Wilona looks Sabine over, noting the travel bag. Hmmm, she nods to Ylsa, "So offer her a job... you think?"

O'Brien chuckles. "I've been there already, but haven't found Fr. Isen yet." He finishes his whiskey in one motion. "Well, I'd best go back to the church." He leaves money to pay for the whiskey. "Nice to meet you and thanks for the information."

Anderson collects his whiskey and barely swallows it before he's on his way to the door. After paying, of course. Not lavishly, of course. Louey isn't pretty, after all.

Anderson moves off towards the porch.

O'Brien nods to Karl and Christopher, then to the ladies behind the bar and then the rest. He turns and heads for the door, breviary in hand. A second's pause to steel himself for the cold and out.

O'Brien hurries off towards the porch.

Just a shrug at Wilona now, "Your job, the girls." Ylsa glances back at McCain, "Doing OK?"

Sabine perks up, her ears hearing something about money. She gives Wilona a smile.

Gee thanks. Yup, Wilona's job. She heads back around the bar and approaches Sabine, "Evening."

McCain nods over his whiskey, more relaxed now that Karl seems less troublesome. "Yes, I'm fine." The English is perfectly American. The Spanish... wasn't.

Christopher orders, from some other 'girl', two more whiskeys, "And make it the good stuff."

Merritt has finally worked out most of the chill. Standing in a saloon, with enough sips of bourbon, enough draws on the cigar, and no snowstorm stands a chance. Mayhaps, when Wilona's done talking with her, Sabine will also lack a chance.

Sabine turns slowly, giving Wilona a bright smile. "Evening, ma'am. Cold night we're having."

Karl waves off to O'Brien then turns back to his son. He slaps him on the back and waits for the woman to bring him his poison. "So where you staying now?"

Did McCain answer her? Is Ylsa paying attention again? Nope. She's staring down the bar, just biting her tongue at a splendid answer to Karl's question.

Wilona nods to Sabine, "Sure is." She extends a hand, "Names Wilona Jenkins."

Christopher grins at his dad, "I'm livin' in the house I'm building. Though it's too damn cold for that. "--Think I might move into town, 'till spring." Unless you ask me to stay at home with you. Though that might be /way/ too much to ask."

Sabine delicately takes Wilona's hand and squeezes. "Sabine Millot. I'm pleased to meet you."

McCain answered, but lets Ylsa think her own thoughts.

Wilona's gaze drifts down to the travelling bag then back up to Sabine, "Bit cold to be traveling. Passing through town or planning a stay in Maddock?"

Christopher glances down the bar at Ylsa, of course.

Sabine says "Oh, I'm planning on staying. " To the delight of Silky, I'm sure. "Been in town for a little while, just now getting the hang of things. Nice place you have here."

Ylsa is watching you back, Chris. Her expression is entirely devoid of any sort of give-away - almost like a clay mask.

Sabine. Merritt puffs thoughtfully on his cigar. That's an unusual name. Doesn't quite sound like a taken name, nor is it another given name of plain simplicity.

Miguel moves over from outside.

Karl remains quiet, neither denying or extending an invitation to Christopher, "You seemed a might stuck on buying that land, you still not interested in selling it to me?"

Sabine sounds French. Like her last name, Millot. Hell, with that dark black hair, she looks a little French too.

Wilona ventures, "Looking for some work?"

Christopher can see, can definitly see, Trouble brewing. A big fight with Ylsa, no doubt about it. "Buying what land? I'm just buildin' on the land I already own. I never sold it." And a rakish grin, "And no, I'm no sellin' it, neither."

Miguel enters quietly and automatically side-steps, glancing around. His gaze momentarily stops on the Quintans' backs, on Ylsa, and... Well... Sabine. Then he glances at the door again, but his immediate instinct to leave is quashed the the arrival of several hands who can't seem to get the jist of the door - they stand there in it.

Sabine shoots Silky another catty smile, and then turns towards Wilona. "I could be, indeed." She slowly take a long sip of her whiskey.

Naco hurries over from outside.

Naco. Miguel greets Naco with a delighted grin. Backup. "Naco!"

Christopher has figured, finally, that Naco is another 'friend' of Ylsa's. His own eyes narrow at Miguel's entrance /and/ Naco. Shit.

Oooh another man. Sabine gives Miguel one of her bestest smile. She gives Naco another one, watching the two greet each other. Damn.

Wilona says "Well there ain't all that much for a working woman in Maddock unless your looking to do mending or laundry..." Yeah right, "However, I could use some more help around here." She indicates the crowd of hands at the door, "If your interested.""

Miguel's voice and Naco's name crash into Ylsa's musings. She glances over there with exactly the same reaction as Christopher. Shit. Back to McCain. "Whiskey, right?" Hope so. That's what you're getting. Ylsa is busy now. Busy busy busy.


Naco avoids being elbowed by milling hands, amazingly enough. Dusted with snow, that he brushes off onto the nearest one's boots. But he avoids being elbowed. "Miguel." His grin is crooked, not full. Reserved, while he checks out the occupants. Oh goody. Christopher. "Too much snow, my friend." Spanish. What else?

Let William Merritt be the second to register displeasure at Miguel's entrance. Not that Miguel disrupts any carefully laid Infernal Plans, mind you. Just distaste, pure and simple. Hrm. Better people to look at... Wilona done interviewing Sabine yet?

Karl is just too drunk to notice that the man who rearranged his face just stepped through the door. He turns his empty cup over then reaches for a hat that isn't there, "It's snowing like the devil, I'd best get home."

Miguel nods to that, murmuring in return, in Spanish. "Maybe trouble here. He (capital 'H') is here, and so is His Father." Miguel doesn't need to look over there, does he? You know, right Naco? Miguel glances around to locate barseats nearer wherever Ylsa is. "Drink, friend?"

Sabine hmmmms up at Wilona. "I've never been very good at mending or laundy." She gives Wilona a coy smile. She tilts her head to the woman, as if asking to speak over there, away from the group.

McCain nods to Ylsa and takes whatever she gives him.

Christopher reaches for his dad's hat and hands it to him. His own ahat is found, too, and set firmly upon his head. "I'll come with you, pa."

No, Miguel doesn't need to look. Naco knows. So he nods in return, and claps a hand to Miguel's nearest shoulder, walking with him. "A drink would be good, I think."

Christopher glares a few daggers at Naco. Jealous.

It's whiskey, McCain. Whiskey too-quickly poured. Ylsa, for her part, glances toward the kitchen, then Christopher, Naco and Miguel, before turning to start putting glasses into the dirty-dish tray.

Sabine slips off her stool, finishing her whiskey.

Benjamin nods to Miguel

Wilona nods, "Me either." She smiles, indicating the deserted table near the Poker Curtain, "Care to hear what The Grey Horse can offer?" Before one of the other saloons get's their own offer in.

Miguel tries to very casually go the round-about way to the bar, avoiding being within any goodly distance of Trouble. "Evening, Senor Culver." Miguel nods back to Benjamin.

One large hand reaches for his coat, that was thrown carelessly over a chair. Christopher shrugs into it, eyes narrowing, and dangerous on that Mexican. Best leave soon before the alcohol makes him behave foolishly.

Sabine moves over to the table. "I would be delighted, ma'am." Her dress swishes as she moves, and she re-deposites herself at the right table.

Naco meets Christopher's gaze, narrow or not, for just a moment. His shoulders straighten, just a little, barely noticable. And then, his gaze moves on. To the man Miguel addresses. He nods. "Senor."

Karl catches quips of Mexican and looks up to stare directly at Miguel, his eyes turn dark even as his left hand rubs his right forearm.

Wilona sits beside Sabine leaning forward so she can drop her voice. Time to discuss business.

Miguel is wading through the chairs and tables of the tavern, more than a few men moving themselves to hasten his path - away from them. He misses Karl's regard, and grins instead at his sister, asking her in teasing tones to tend to her customers.

McCain watches Karl, Miguel and Naco in the mirror now. This Quintan fellow has no friends, just like people said.

Now there's a pair that should put some fear into greater Maddock. The same dark look in the eyes of the father and his son. The same dark cloud hanging over both heads. Chris's jaw tightens and his fists clench, as if prepared for a fight, but no, so far he's no over reacting. Years of army service teaches you to wait. He says to Karl, "C'mon, before I do something foolish." His eyes glance over the top of some woman's head to find Ylsa.

Merritt finishes his bourbon. Mexicans and ranchhands pouring into the bar, and that new woman looks to be settling in for a long talk with Wilona. Nothing that horribly interesting left for now. So Merritt tosses coin onto the bar, and shrugs back into his coat - lit cigar a reddish beacon held in his teeth.

Sabine continues to speak quietly with Wilona, ignoring the menfolk for a bit. They can wait. And they will.

Friendless? Merritt might not agree with that, McCain. How much money does Quintan have on deposit in the bank just now?

Ylsa glances up at Miguel sharply, then nods to he and Naco. Perhaps then she gives herself away, meeting Chris' gaze for a split-second. She nods barely to him, skims over his father, and turns her back on the lot of them, ostentatiously, to fetch glasses.

McCain, who has been hired more than once himself, might argue that money doesn't buy actual friendship.

Wilona leans closer to Sabine, whispering with her.

Naco's grin, brief though it may be, for Ylsa, is sincere, as he drops onto a stool beside Miguel.

Did they leave yet? Doesn't matter. Ylsa has to turn around some time. She does, upending two glasses with two hands, then pouring a whiskey into each, before handing them across the bar to Naco and Miguel. Ylsa doesn't quite look at any of them, "Seen Mama?" --In Spanish.

Karl finds his coat and exits with Chris. Grand eh? Not really, a bit anti-climatic.

Wilona shakes her head, her voice a low murmur. "Lil girl by the name of Zita handles the laundry for a good price but we can always use an extra hearty voice around here, the miners like singin'" And Drinking, and Women. Not necessarily in that order.

Karl moves off towards the porch.

Sabine slips her small white hand out to Wilona. "Then I think you have got a deal, ma'am."

Miguel takes his drink, "Not lately. She is maybe with Tess? I think she was going to teach Tess how to cook, last I heard. So Tess could be a good wife." This amuses Miguel to no end. He turns to see if Naco has any better answer.

Wilona smiles, offering a hand towards Sabine. "You have a room for tonight at the boarding house? Could be till tomorrow before I can rustle you up something here."

Naco is mostly baffled by why Ylsa isn't looking at him. Guilt, that makes a person not look another person in the eye, doesn't it? Guilt or fear. She's not still afraid of him, is she? He has no poker in his hand. So his answer is a little distracted. "I was going to say that you would know, Miguel. So, no, I have not seen her."

McCain sips his whiskey. No need to slam this one -- the cold has worn off.

Sabine nods to Wilona. "Alright." She shakes her hand, and then glances around. No nookie tonight guys, I don't have a room.

Almost like these two men are a shield against the rest of the saloon, which has become momentarily threatening in Ylsa's world, the small woman loiters behind their section of bar. She pours herself a rum. "Still cold out there?" By increments, Ylsa is beginning to relax. She leans elbows on the bar, glancing down to note the handshake between Sabine and Wilona.

Wilona chuckles at that, standing from the table, "Ylsa, have Farissa clear out Sasha's room in the morning." Punishment for going upstairs and pouting. To Sabine, "Come by in the morning and we'll have something set up for you."

Ylsa flicks a look and a nod at Wilona. OK. And then she drains half her glass of rum. This, more than anything, draws Ylsa towards relaxing her set shoulders. She studies Sabine once again, then nods to her, as well.

Sabine also rises, with a bit of a smile. "Thank you Ma'am, I will." She turns towards Ylsa giving her a pleasant smile. "Mrs. Mendez."

Talking. Talking is good. Naco nods, glancing over his shoulder for a moment, toward the doors. "There is too _much_ snow, querida. I think it should stop soon." He is distracted again by Wilona's order, and then looks back at the woman behind the bar. "It is warm inside, though."

Shifting so his back is to the bar, Miguel watches the patrons around the bar. McCain's guns are noted, as is the exchange between Wilona and Ylsa. Miguel just stays quiet for the moment.

Ylsa corrects, "Miss. Senorita - not married, Mendez."

Sabine blushes, but it's a pretty blush. "My apologizes Senorita."

McCain catches parts of the Spanish conversation. Enough to decide he doesn't want to know. Senorita, querida... and an arm around the younger Quintan. No wonder.

Ylsa immediately orients on Naco, then, looking at him this time, "I told you that it gets so cold here, Naco. But this is more snow then I have ever seen fall, in one time." Ylsa either doesn't hear, or doesn't choose to answer, Sabine. She'll learn soon enough, when Ylsa is not to be bothered. --Or rather, around whom.

Sabine arches an eyebrow, and then smirks, slightly, apparently not giving a damn..or not a faster learner.

Wilona slips upstairs to look for Farissa.

Wilona moves off towards the stairs that lead upwards.

Above on the balcony, Wilona walks over from the saloon below.

Above on the balcony, Wilona walks off towards the oak door.

"It means," Naco says, a spark of mischief in his eyes, for an instant, before he restrains himself again, "that you should stay close to home, Ylsa. Not get lost in all that snow. So little, you could be buried, and then we would not sleep, until we came and dug you out again." And properly warmed you up.

Ylsa finally smiles at Naco, and this expression seems true, "I will not get lost. I carry a shovel with me, when I go to walk, see..." Ylsa winks, "And soon I will be so fat that I cannot be lost anywhere, much less in the snow." She shrugs, but grins.

Sabine looks over the menfolk, and smiles.

The menfolk of Miguel is watching the door, drifting in his own thoughts - self-preservation when men are flirting with his sister. Maybe he should have followed the Quintans. Maybe not. Maybe they went home. Maybe not. Damn far piece ot ride, in two feet of snow. Who's at the restaurant? Tess never locks those damn doors.... A frown settles over his brow, as Miguel's attention seems occupied by the saloon door.

Sabine slips out of her seat, and slowly rises, letting the chair squeak so she can get some attention. She smiles collecting her hat and gloves, and gives Miguel a definite sly smile.

Memo might be at the restaurant, being entertained by, or entertaining Rosa. Naco doesn't ask. And as for flirting, he's Naco! What can he hurt? Nonetheless, flirting is over, as he sits back on his stool. "I don't think being fat will keep you from getting lost in the snow. I think if your feet were fat, then you could be okay, but not your belly. Isn't that right, Miguel?"

"Hmmmm?" His name got Miguel's attention. He glances past Sabine - nods at her (he's male) - and looks at Naco. "What?"

McCain watches Sabine in the mirror as he finishes his whiskey. She's much better than the other things he's been watching in the mirror.

Sabine is. She is. All that hair too. She slowly moves to the center of the room, trying to figure which way to go.

Naco repeats. The fat feet versus the fat belly theory. Isn't that right?

Ylsa shakes her head, before Miguel can answer, "No no. I won't get lost, Naco. It is OK." 'It is OK' from Ylsa. Imagine the comfort that might bring.

Miguel half-grins, "I don't know. I think... I'm worried that those Quint-- I have to go check on Tess, OK?" He darts an apologetic look at Ylsa, for catagorizing Him in that, but... To Naco: "You will see that she is wherever she is going to sleep, safely?" Miguel doesn't ask either. And he doesn't wait around for the answer. He just downs his drink, sets the glass gently to the bar, nods around and pads out, brushing his hand across his gun, to make sure it's where it is supposed to be.

Naco nods at Miguel's back, although a little befuddled. Everyone's in an odd mood tonight, aren't they? Of course he'll see that she's whereever she goes, safely. Of course.

Miguel strides off towards the porch.

Sabine strides towards the bar, since the testorone monster has left. She smiles at both Naco and McCain.

Naco hey hey hey. There are still testosterone monsters.

Kinda.

Ylsa reaches to touch with Naco's glas, her own. Her voice drops to a subdued murmur, her guise the same, "I think sometimes, Naco, that you were right. Too crazy, this." Sometimes are nights like this. Ylsa ignores Sabine, or doesn't notice her.

Sabine slides up to the bar and takes a seat. She smiles a little.

McCain flags down Louey again. And watches Sabine a little more.

Naco's glass pauses, halfway to his mouth. "What is different about this night? They were here.." They. Capital T. The Quintans. "But They can come here any night."

Sabine winks at McCain. She listens to Naco and Ylsa with half an ear.

Ylsa nods. "And you can. And... Oh damn. Naco. Do you sometimes feel like you are in a dream, and in the dream you see these two trains on the same tracks, heading toward each other, and you are the one at the place where they switch trains from one track to the other, and you feel like if you can't do it..." She trails off.

McCain grins slightly at Sabine. "Evening, miss." And another sip of whiskey. Nice and warm now.

Sabine smiles at McCain. "Evening Sir. Cold night." Let's start with the small talk.

McCain nods once. "Yes, it is. Warm saloon." The best kind.

Sabine waves at her throat with her hand. "Very warm."

Naco sets the glass down again, and shakes his head. "No." Naco is sometimes too honest. "I do not have that dream. The train does not come to Maddock though, querida." Boy, there's a loaded statement, eh?

McCain's eyes glance at Sabine's fingers, and the general neighborhood. "Yes indeed." Talking like he's got all the time in the world.

Maybe Ylsa brought the trains to Maddock, or at least the less symbolic potential for a catacalismal collision. She reaches for the whiskey bottle, to refill Naco's glass, or to top it off. "I hope not. I hope..."

Sabine holds out her slim hand to McCain. "Name's Sabine."

McCain takes Sabine's hand gently, but doesn't kiss it or do anything so extravagant. "Jackson McCain. A pleasure to meet you."

Naco watches as amber liquid refills his glass, and smiles, lopsidedly. "Why trains, querida? Why not... bears? Or dogs. Roosters."

Sabine squeezes McCain's hand, a nice grim, not really too wussy, but stron. Still feminine tho. "No, the pleasure is mine."

Ylsa picks up on that last, with a light laugh. "Roosters. I'll cut you all up, if I can, if you fight. You ask Miguel. He and Patrick..." Ylsa shrugs, sighs, studies the grain of the wood. And abruptly she laughs. "It's crazy. That it even works this long."

"Naco has eyes like an angel, and a soul like trouble." That is what they used to say about Naco, when he was younger. Who knows whether they would say it now. He stands at an even six feet in height, broad of shoulder. He is long though, rather than wide, and though it is clear he has some power behind him, it is not shown in muscle. His hair is above his collar, thick and shining black, looking as though it has been styled by fingers. A square-set jaw is always set, stubbornly, as if his rough-shaven chin will lead him through life. Eyes of warm brown are steady in their regard, and clear. His voice is a rich baritone, giving his words music when he speaks English. He wears a tan shirt made of rough-weave cloth, tucked into trousers of navy blue, with black suspenders to hold them up. His feet are covered by strong brown boots.

McCain smiles a bit. Not one of those face-lighting smiles. Those just don't happen to him. "Let's... agree to disagree, then." Because you are obviously more pleasant than I am, dear. Just look at us in the mirror.

Sabine smiles. "As you wish." And anything else you wish for, hon.

Naco chuckles, turning his palms up, a defensive gesture. "I do not want to be cut, okay?"

Ylsa reaches to catch one of those palms, "Naco." Her voice dropped even quieter then, soft and, yes, even tender of tone. She stares at the man, then squeezes his hand, not quite ready to speak.

Tess hurries over from outside.

Tess is in a Hellaciously Good Mood. Beware.

McCain keeps smiling at Sabine. "Thank you."

Ylsa is in the far corner of the bar, on the Bartender side, holding Naco's hand. Naco is on the customer side of the bar. McCain is to Sabine, the flame to the moth. Or maybe the relationship is visa-versa.

Naco curls the fingers of the hand that is caught around Ylsa's. Those who are grossed out by massive amounts of romantic foo, might want to avert their eyes. Naco says, in the same soft tone of voice, dark eyes on eyes that are equally dark, "Querida."

Tess just *bets* McCain is smiling at Sabine. If Tess were a man, she'd be smiling at Sabine, too. Since she's *not* a man, she looks slightly put out. How *dare* someone be more beautiful than she is? Warily, she doth approach Naco and Ylsa. If they look approachable.

Sabine smiles back at McCain, and ignores Tess, like she ignored Silky earlier. She's pretty adn she knows it too.

They look approachable, if one isn't, yeah, grossed out by PDAs. Ylsa blinks, hard, and looks down, breaking the gaze first. Embarassed? Guilt? But her hand squeezes his harder, and she swallows. "Naco." She'd die for him at this moment. And then what if Chris walks in? Or Memo? What the hell is Ylsa up to? She shakes her head.

McCain, for his part, can appreciate more than one beauty. So he gives Tess a look in the back-bar mirror before he turns away from the Spanish Romantic Foo.

Sabine heyas some, he looked away. She glances towards Tess, but gives an extra pleasant smile towards her, since McCain looked back.

Naco's eyebrows lift a little. Smile turning curious now, he jostles the arm attached to the hand he holds, lightly. Ducking his head to attempt to re-establish that gaze, he prompts, "What? Ylsa? What is it?"

Tess tosses her head a little: she's been noticed, that's all that matters. And, not being put off by PDAs, she approaches...and then stops. It might be more interesting to *watch* this.

Gaze is caught again, Ylsa's expression far more open than she'd normally allow. She tilts her head, slightly and looks at him, drawing his hand to brush the back of it against her cheek, lightly, and then Ylsa's voice falls nearly to inaduble, in a whisper.

Sabine watches the PDA in the mirror, pretending to check out her hair. She's got lots of hair, so this could take a while.

Naco senses "Ylsa's tones are, in the words of the great poet, such sweet sorrow: "Naco. I love you." --And the cruelty that this is, Ylsa knows too."

*Awwwww.* Aren't they *sweet*? It makes Tess want to go home and boink Miguel. Of course, Tess would probably want to do that anyway. She veers towards the other end of the bar, and makes Louey, or whomever is the bar tender who is not Ylsa, give her some lemonade.

McCain ignores the PDA, for 30-plus years of reasons. Instead, he returns to small talk. He saw the bag. "You're new to town?"

Louey, who is quite accurately at the very very very very very very far end of the bar, and still be considered behind it, is more than happy to get Tess some lemonade. What the hell - need a bit more sugar and syrup in here, don't we?

Sabine hmmms at the man. "Yes sir. Just got here a little while ago. I'm going to be playing piano and singing here."

Tess is *so* glad, Louey. She *beams* at him, and watches Ylsa and Naco blatently. *Her* hair, unlike L...Sabrine's, right, is Just Perfect. Hah. Take That. Sabine. So Tess isn't good with names.

McCain hmms, nodding back at Sabine. "I'll bet you've got a really nice voice." Among other things.

If intentions could be read in a look, or in body language, the entire bar would know that Naco would like nothing more than to pick Ylsa up over the bar, and put her where he is. Right here. Instead, as wood separates them he squeezes her hand more tightly and draws it back toward him, pressing the back to his lips. And he stays that way a long while, eyes closed, almost in prayer.

Sabine has perfected the muss look, the apres sex look. Gives her something to fiddle with and twirl with her fingers, and get the men's attention. "Thank you sir. Maybe I could sing you a song, sometime."

--While Ylsa drowns in anguished guilt. She drops her head once more, hairs that have come loose in a long evening, droping in a fine web over her features. She drags in a shuddering breath, unable to release Naco's hand.

For God's sake, Ylsa. Become a Mormon and marry them all. Or Tess will.

McCain nods. "Yes, maybe so." He drinks the remains of his whiskey all at once. "But... not tonight?" As in 'I can't right now because my player has to go to bed.'

Sing, sing a song. What else do you do for a song, Sabine? Tess wouldn't be catty and ask, but with your height and dark hair, you sort of remind her of, oh, Miss Gem Trotters, highest-priced whore in town. No offence meant, of course. Tess sips her lemonade and beams at the world. Even the dark-haired beauty. The one who isn't Ylsa, she means.

Naco lifts his head, eventually. Ylsa's not getting her hand back, though. Period. End of statement. He studies her, hair over her features, and he draws a breath, like he might speak, then stops himself. The rough pad of his thumb brushes lightly over the back of her hand. "You are not happy, still."

Sabine smiles at McCain. "Of course." No offense Tess, since Sabine's probably a hell of alot more expensive that Miss Gem Totters and betterlooking, she's sure.

Don't count on it. Miss Gem Trotters, did Tess say Totters earlier, or can Sabine just not type, but anyway Tess can't type tonight either, is a babe. You two can have a cat fight sometime. Tess'll watch.

Ylsa shakes her head, denying that it is still bent down, "I am." Why wouldn't she be - she's got the three men she wants at her beck and call, with only the worry if something goes wrong and they all kill each other. "A daughter, you, Memo.... Miguel. Mama is here."

McCain pulls coins out of his pocket and pays for his whiskeys. He takes another out and waves it toward Louey. "And whatever the lady likes." He places the extra money on the bar and tips his hat to Sabine. "Some other night, perhaps?"

And speaking of catfights, who shows up at the banister, licking her claws, but Silky Brown again. She pad-pad-pads down the stairs, at the arm of a young and foolishly-grinning cowboy, to meet the whistles and hoots with a high head. And you all thought that her emittor just forgot about her, huh?

Sabine nods and winks at McCain. "Of course, darlin." She smiles at the man and goes to Louey for anther whiskey..and she ignores that Silky.

McCain turns to head out. He'd acknowledge Ylsa, but... well, Romantic Foo. A tip of the hat to Tess as he heads out. "Miss." Away he goes, into the night.

McCain strides off towards the porch.

Oh, that lucky dog Cowboy is going to get ribbed all the way home, and he'll tell lies pretty unbelievable, too. But Silky purrs a goodbye to him, kisses him on the cheek and pats his rear, before she sidles behind the bar to pour herself a whiskey. On the house. Silky sports a smile for both Tess and Sabine.

Sabine smiles at Silky, the whole time thinking 'tramp.'

Tess what the hells, and smiles back at Silky. She's in a good mood.

Tramp and getting paid for it, sweetheart. And what will - you- be doing tonight? Silky toasts the poor lad, as he passes out the door. Yep, this is a gal who enjoys her owrk.

That's *who* will you be doing, Silky, not what. Get it right, girl. Tess tilts her lemonade back in a swig. Gulp. She's such a lush.

Sabine is looking pretty, you old hag. And That's it.

Technicalities, Tess. Silky ambles over to Tess, since Ylsa AGAIN occupied, "More?" No niceties, except - whooa - this is Miguel's woman. Miguel is Ylsa's brother. Goddamn family ties. She pastes on a smile and Silky adds, belatedly, "Miss Elliot." Or whomever.

Sabine ooohs a little to herself, checking out Tess, since Silky's being nice to her.

/More/? Blink. Tess doesn't want any of your.. uh, wares, Silky. Thanks anyway. Does Tess have a clue what your name is? "Hello," she says, pleasantly. If a trifle confusedly.

Silky leans against the counter, then, all curves-in-the-right-places, and she tilts her head coquetishly at Tess, "Silky Brown. I work here." Worrrrrk. Rolled R.

Tess, dryly: "Ah gathered." Tess is nobody's fool. What, she wonders,v aguely, would Miguel say if she went upst...nevermind. Just...nevermind.

"Did you now?" Silky tries Tess' drawl on for size. It doesn't fit too badly. She's got the dark skin that suggests some Negro blood, and she's that willowly tall statuesque sort. "An' you work at the restaurant, right? Gonna own it soon."

Sabine just watches, looking utterly amused.

Pause. "Who's gonna own it soon? Me?" Or you? Tess does Not Like the idea of Silky owning it, thankyouvermuch. More pause. "Ah suppose Ah sort of will." She's gotten used to people teasing her about the drawl.

Silky laughs, "Of course it would be you, right? Marryin' the boss, right?"

Tess nods. "Hadn't thought of it that way. Ah run th'place anyway. Things won't change any." /Why/ are you talking her her? Tess's pale eyebrows quiver as she considers the answers to that.

Because it amuses her. Silky shrugs, arches a brow also - see, she can do that, and then glances down at Sabine. "So. They didn't kick you out. Guess you'll be working here?"

Ylsa shakes her head, denying that it is still bent down, "I am." Why wouldn't she be - she's got the three men she wants at her beck and call, with only the worry if something goes wrong and they all kill each other. "A daughter, you, Memo.... Miguel. Mama is here."

Sabine glances over at Silky finally, and sniffs, as if she smells something bad. "Pardon?"

Silky returns, "Pardon?" Same tone of voice. "I said, if they didn't toss you out, you must be working here." Silky sends a Significant Glance toward Ylsa, and another, toward Wilona's office door. Then she looks back at Sabine, as if to say 'duh'!

Naco nods. Listing all the pieces. And yet. "Your family, Ylsa. We are your family. But if you are happy, querida," and here he pauses, to search your expression, "why do you feel like you are not saying something?"

Sabine sniffs again, as if Silky /still/ smells bad. "I suppose so." She looks down her nose at her.

Tess grins broadly at Silky. You go, girl.

Ylsa shakes her head, whispering, while clasping her other hand around Naco's, "I am so worried, Naco.... It will all... That like the trains, everything will hit each other and no one will... " Don't speak it - it might come true.

Naco's second hand covers Ylsa's. The conversation is kept low. As intimate as a conversation can be in a saloon, where one has to speak above a certain level to be heard. Speaking Spanish helps. Again, Naco starts to speak, then stops himself, with a wry smile. "We are men, Ylsa. Boys. Boys, we fight. Remember? Someone always pushes someone into the dirt, and then there is a fight, at home."

Silky rolls her head on her neck and sighs, "Well. Guess you'll just have to learn the ropes the hard way, Miss New Gal." Assuming that's true. Silky pours herself another whiskey and drains half. "If you don't, there are other places to work."

Sabine hmms delicately at Silky. "But they want me here." Cause I'm new and the men will come to see me, instead of you, you old hag.

Oh hell. Ylsa takes one of her hands back and with the assistance of both that and Naco's grip, she pulls herself on the inside counter, then shifts her legs in a most unlady-like manner, so she sits on the top of the taller, outside bar. There, next to Naco, Ylsa reclaims his hand in both of hers, and pulls it up to kiss. "Don't die. Don't lose an eye, or an arm, or a hand or a leg. Don't be another gravestone I have to watch. Don't...You know, you love so much, you hurt so much. It seems unfair."

Silky is neither old, nor a hag, both facts which are too readily apparent. "Well isn't that -goooood- for you." She smirks.

Yah well.. I've got alot of hair. So nyahah. "I will also be headlining here as a singer." She gives Silky a sweet smile. Nyahah. I can do more than just lie on my back.

Silky doesn't just lie there. She's had a talk or two with Miss Gem. Oh yeah. Tutorials.

Tess' listening with half an ear to the catfight, grinning lopsidedly at it. Tess understands, Sabine, that a nice vibrato does wonders during oral sex. But Tess wouldn't say that. Noooo sir. Tess wouldn't *think* it ... unless Miguel were in the room. But far more interesting are Ylsa and Naco's antics, at the far end of the bar. Tess forgets what she was drinking, and orders a brandy.

Miss Gem saunters over from outside.

The scene: Tess and Sabine at the bar, Silky Brown behind it. Did Silky come from the Dusty Lady? Maybe. And at the very end of the bar, near the wall, Ylsa sits, involved in Deep Intense Conversation with Naco.

Viola! The rest of you poor girls can saunter upstairs now and entertain each other, because Miss Gem is *here*. Treading on Somebody Else's Territory, but then, that's the game Gem's best at in the whole wide world. The doors swing shut behind her, and she shoots a lazy grin directly at Tess. "I miss that strong Mexican of yours, Tess," she trills out, and then her eyes fasten on Naco. "But there are always more, aren't there."

Sabine smiles at Miss Gem. Look Ylsa, she's after yer man. Sic'em.

Tess doesn't precisely hiccup. But she does gape, and turn red, and sort of make a strangled sound that is painful to listen to. "Ah'll *thank* y'all t'..." Keep your hands off Miguel. Good, Tess. Make it worse. Gooooood.

Naco stands up. Just to be on an even level. Ylsa can have his hand. He leans against her legs, lightly. Not to trap her. Just comfortably. Familiarly. He smiles, warmly. "What is not fair, Ylsa? If I hurt so much, then it means that I find a way to fix it. If I love so much, then I love more, to make up for the hurt." famous words or infamous words, now, leave his lips. Te amo, mi corazon. "I love you, my heart."

Silky Brown raises her glass in toast to her Heroine, Miss Gem, "Gem! Come have a drink with me. This young woman here--" Sabine, "Was just telling me how she's going to be stealing all my men." A bit of a mock pout underscores that.

Miss Gem is temporarily distracted from Naco, long enough to shoot a blue-eyed smile at Tess. "You'll thank me to what, hon? Thanks don't get you anywhere, but two dollars can do *wonders*." Eyes travel over Tess' small form. "I can make you do things you've never even .dreamed. of." But what's the man with the angel's eyes talking about?

Sabine dooodeedooos, and ain't doing a damned thing. Just fixing her mussed hair and getting a drink of whiskey..and watching Miss Gem, in the mirror, same old trick as before.

Miss Gem -tsks-, and saunters over to Silky. Gem's saunter is worth stopping the car for. The things that woman's hips do are sinful to watch, even from a distance. "How -dare- she," Gem says gleefully. "Darling," and this is to Sabine, "why don't you do ... /something/ ... with that ... hair," and the word is spoken doubtfully, as if it's a rat's nest and Gem's trying to be polite, "of yours?"

This is it, Ylsa is going to start crying. She totally misses Gem's entrance, Silky's greeting, Tess' reaction. Hell, a tornado could wipe out the other side of the bar and Ylsa might miss that, too. She drops her head again, obsidian eyes shiney, heart aching to burst, almost afraid to keep breathing, lest light breath might shatter the moment. Good thing the priest ain't here now. Damn good thing.

Sabine ignores Miss Gem. Ylsa..the Alpha, is crying. This is news. She Hmmmms slightly at Miss Gem, keeping her eyes on Ylsa.

Tess fails to blush by the skin of her teeth. Bad Gem. *Bad* Gem. (Not according to what Tess' heard. Nevermind.) And now Ylsa's cry--YLSA IS CRYING? Where's a priest? The world's ending, somebody needs to be blessed, something!

Ylsa is crying quietly, behind her hair. And the whole world would have to notice. Where is Coyote, again? Ylsa's luck.

Sabine is playing with her rat's nest, looking in the mirror, trying to be discreet.

A very good thing. Very Good. Naco doesn't notice the fact that everyone else is watching Ylsa cry. He notices the fact that Ylsa's crying. Like everyone else. Go figure. That warm smile doesn't disappear. Instead, he curls a finger under her chin, and tugs upward a little, to lift her chin, if she will. "This is something to cry about? I can not take it back.. I should apologize?"

Ylsa is crying. Over that lovely Mexican man. /In/teresting. Gem touches her tongue to her lip, briefly, watching. This would be a bad time, then, to encroach on Ylsa's territory. Ylsa's the one woman in Maddock Gem respects. Those knives. Gem's all for phallic symbols, but *really*, Ylsa.

Miss Gem turns on Sabine after a moment, deliberately not mucking with her own hair. "So. Where do you work?" We're assuming you're a Working Girl. Stealing Silky's boys, and all that.

"No no no. No no, Naco, no. No." Say it again. Don't say it again. Say it again. The petals of the flower of Ylsa's reason, her pride, her plans fall haphazard to to dust - don't say it again, say it again... She swallows. "No, not apologize. No. You are too perfect, Naco. You do not do it wrong. Nothing wrong." Ylsa tries to wipe the twin streaks from her cheek, quickly. So no one will notice. Hah.

Sabine gets her hair to stay in places, more or less and then she smiles at Miss Gem. "I shall be singing here, ma'am." She smiles, adding just a hint onto the Ma'am.

Silky already did that, Gem - ma'amed Miss Voice and I don't just lay them, here. She looks smug. Silky's idea.

For God's sake, Naco, *say* it. Tess can hardly stand the tension. She's so involved, in fact, that she's not noticed she's surrounded by three whores, discussing business.

Sabine ma'amed you first, Beavis.

-Ma'am-??? Gem looks momentarily startled, then smug. First Lady of Maddock, she is. Ask any of the boys: she's been a *lot* of their Firsts. She studies Sabine, up and down, down and up. "Good," she nods. "How much?" Subtle, is Gem. Like a fist in the face.

There are those, of course, who would say that Maddie Quintan--er, MacClaine, is the First Lady of Maddock, being the mayor's wife, and all. But then again, ask Jaime about Miss Gem sometime. The blue-eyed lady gives a broad, if quick, smile at the thought.

More than you, she almost says...almost. But she's watching Ylsa out of the corner of her eye. Sabine looks up at Miss Gem and gives her a smile. "Oh, I believe I'll probably be doing a set nightly. Depends on if I am playing the piano too."

Naco will say it again, patience patience. He nods, still smiling. Ylsa made his day. Night. Year. See? "Then I will not apologize. It is true, that I love you. That you are my heart." The hand under her chin brushes her cheek, the same rough thumb touch that was on the back of her hand, earlier. "I would ask you, to marry me, if you wanted to be married. You should know that."

Miss Gem is not going to be out-priced by a two-bit new-in-town singing whore, thanks much. Her eyes narrow slightly, and she purses her lips, then, "Multitalented. Good for you."

WOW. Tess understood THAT part. WOW. WOW. Big Green Eyes get Bigger. WOW. /Marry/ him, Ylsa. He's *gorgeous*. She leans forward, holding her breath, and hardly notices she's leaning precariously near to Silky's bosom.

Sabine hmmmms at Miss Gem. "Oh yes I am." She continues blythly. "And I speak three languages." Heh. Quick over at the new boss.

Sabine quickly looks over at the new boss even.

Miss Gem smiles. "I've noticed one language seems to do the trick." If you're good enough, this implies.

Ylsa can't even talk, again, choked up. She slides off the bar, once more using Naco for support, and just curls into him, in a warm embrace, the better to hide fresh tears. And she kisses him, tenderly, lightly. No sexual tension, or livid passion that usually marks the woman, but a deepest affection - assurance that he is there, with her.

Sabine speaks in French. "I am sure you do."

Silky notices. She eyes Tess oddly, then Miss Gem, then suggests to Tess, "Interested?" Like Silky's a little baffled about the proximity of Tess to Silky. Or her Bosom.

Sabine okies and watches the PDA going on. This woman was all over Christopher earlier and now she's sucking face with this guy. Interesting...

Miss Gem's eyes glitter, and she replies, in kind, to Sabine, "Indeed, cherie." The words are a touch frosty as she says, "Welcome to Maddock."

Probably less interesting than sucking face with Christopher. Naco won't throw her down on the bar and take her, right in front of God and everyone. The kiss is returned, sincerely. And then he holds her, nose buried in dark locks of hair. Maddock? Grey Horse? Catfight? Not in Naco's world.

Tess starts, straightening up, and touching her hair. "Ah, uh. No." How's that for straightforward? She leans a bit again, watching Ylsa and Naco

Sabine holds out her hand to Miss Gem. "Why thank you, Miss Gem."

Oh, and didn't Silky pour Gem a drink? And Tess? Brandy all around. Even for Miss Multitalented. How well are you going to speak when... Yeah. Never mind. Silky chortles. Babe in the woods.

Miss Gem takes Sabine's hand. Shakes it. /Very/ politely. And then, if the other woman is either too startled or not appearing to object, Gem lifts the fingers, turns the hand, and places an entirely too tender kiss on the inner wrist.

Brandy. Oh yes. Tess had brandy. Distractedly, she reaches for it. Hopefully missing any brazen body parts on the way.

Sabine blinks slightly, but lets Miss Gem do it, her cheeks turning the palest of pinks.

Miss Gem *hovers* over that hand, she does. *Hovers*. Not lustily. Seductively. And looks up through dark eyebrows, blue smoldering. She does not release the hand, quite yet. "It will be," she purrs, "a .pleasure. to have you here." Gem's purr has been known to make grown men beg. Of course, Gem does a .lot. of things that make men beg.

Christopher is the passion, the physical, the road back to healing. Memo - he is the humour, the balance, the will to continue and Naco, he is the brother, the father, the trust and the stability. So many, so fragmented, in their purposes they serve for Ylsa. She can give the Passion returned passion, the wit, returned wit, but this - the Promise and Commitment, she keeps failing him. "Come with me? Tonight? Stay here with me?" Only a night by night commitment, fed with uncertain inconsistancy. Ylsa asks quietly, sure he will concede and somehow frustrated by that certainly. Maybe afraid - Naco is Passion, he is Humour. Sometimes. Perfect man with angel eyes. Ylsa is terrified, deep down, still Naco. That's why she cannot meet your eyes, sometimes.

Sabine looks litterly flabbergasted. She's been seduced before but..but...hell is this what it feels like when I do this? She goes even more red. "Thank you, again, for your..." *gulp* "...hospitality."

/Now/ Gem releases the hand, with a genuinely nice, friendly smile. "My pleasure," she nearly drawls (thanks Tess, for the lessons--oh, but we shouldn't .talk. about that in .public., should we? Miguel might be interested...), and then the smile turns into something a little more devestating. "And maybe .yours. sometime." Your pleasure, that is, Sabine. In case you missed it.

Sabine got that, boy did she ever. She looks like she's 15 and never been kissed. A hand the one you kissed, goes to her throat. Slowly, she nods, looking a bit like a deer in headlights (cept headlights haven't been invented)

Naco is frustrating in his predictability? He should say no, sometimes, then? When given the opportunity to spend a night with you? However inconsistantly? Naco is crazy. Not that crazy. He will swallow being a little frustrating now and again. "You knew that I would want to stay, before you asked," he teases.

Tess abruptly decides she can't take the sexual tension anymore, and slams back her brandy. With a wave, she heads directly for the door, in search of Miguel. Ooooh Miiiiigueeeeeeel! I'm hoooooorrrrrrrnnnnnyyyyyy!

Ylsa embraces him again, warmly, and pulls his hand around her waist. "Getting fat now, see. Not as fat as I maybe should be, but maybe..." She shrugs. Ylsa has no idea. Samantha is convinced everything is OK, as long as Ylsa feels well, and she does. "Come to bed. Then I won't get lost in the snow, OK, Naco?" Light tease, to match his.

Poor Miguel. What/ever/ shall he do?

Sabine watches Tess go, looking to escape as well. *gulp*

Miss Gem is terribly, Terribly Pleased. She has Won the evening. Gem *usually* wins the evening, but not always with such finesse. And she's not overwhelmingly smug or pleased: it's mostly inside. Now the new girl knows Who's Who. Hee hee.

Tess desperately hopes Miguel shall do Tess. Out she goes, with something of a grin.

And Ylsa and Naco are going too. Just you and Silky and MISS GEM, now, Sabine. Run, now, while the doors are opening! Flee! Hide! Regroup!

Tess strolls off towards the porch.

The new girl is going to stay on her side of the bar, if you stay on yours. I'll be good I promise. Sabine flushes deeply.

[Naco & Ylsa go off to Ylsa's room in the saloon, log ends.]