ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Elsie Why, oh why, is Surelda Solomon here? It's basically a death wish, even though no one knows her to be a Solomon. No, she's just Surelda, Sully, Lady Silver, or Shirley if you're a particular asshole about it. No matter her name, though, the girl herself is here, and she's hard to mistake for any other.

She has silver hair. Black, technically, but dyed silvery white and left long down her back. The pale, black-eyed girl wears a blue dress with spagetti straps, a fitted bodice, a drop-waist, and a faux bustle, with boots and a cowl-necked grey poncho cloak.

When she enters the sheriff's office, she has her head high and walks with some level of comfort and confidence, albiet the comfort and confidence that exists in a person who has no earthly clue where they're going. So she stops, a few steps in, hands pushed deep into her pockets. She looks around. "Hello?" the woman calls out gently. "S'anybody here?"
Stockton Stockton is still known as Sheriff to some, Marshal to most. The mountainous man sits behind the Sheriff's desk, filling out paperwork. Not that he's the Sheriff here anymore. Thick knuckles crack and stiffen around a quill as he writes on parchment. A sullied fellow in cuffs sits behind the bars of the jailcell drunk and passed out. Stock is dressed in his usual armor and EDSD Duster, the belt and gun belt are hanging over the chair behind him. The words from a woman bring his attention barrelling back to this reality and he looks up with inquisitive brown eyes. Sniffing once, he self-consciously checks his smoldering cigarillo and quickly moves to stub it out in the nearby ashtray. "Yes ma'am. Somethin' I can help you with?"
Elsie Surelda manages to give the man a warm smile, but it's tight around the edges, ever so slightly. But then, Stockton likely isn't used to people coming here because they're happy to be here. Surelda's shiny big black eyes flit away from the lawman's brown ones to briefly note the drunk. She smirks. "Looks like he had all the fun," she notes dryly. Then she looks back to Stockton.

"You the lawman, sir? My name's Sully and there's something I'd like to speak to a lawman about, though I don't know that it'll make much sense, or be of much help. But I'd like to try, all the same."
Stockton Stockton blinks slowly to find a warm smile, and he can't help but grin a little back, it's easier when the other person starts smiling first. Tight or not. He's also pretty used to people avoiding eye contact with him. Something about being a walking tower of muscle and authority. A smirk is thrown towards the fellow and he shrugs one broad shoulder, "If'n you like gettin' cuffed, I got another set." Straight faced like it wasn't a joke. Then a nod comes and he flicks the Marshal's star on his lapel, "S'what they keep tellin' me." He exhales slowly and examines the flighty creature for a moment, "Alrigh', out wit it then."
Elsie Eye contact seems to be something Sully has no problem with whatsoever; aside from the amused glance to the drunk, she meets his gaze without any apparent hesitation. At least, no hesitation in her gaze.

Nor in her smile, which has turned to a slight smirk. "I'd have a sassy joke to that if I weren't here for something rather important, Sheriff. Marshall. Not quite sure what the appropriate address is. I don't have much experience with lawmen, but..." Surelda trails off, and moves to one of the chairs across the way. She'll pull her cloak over her head and then drape it neatly across the back of the chair before pulling it out a little further to take a seat. And she sits. And she continues sitting. And continues. Palms flat on her thighs, she watches him, and seems to consider a long while what to say. Finally, she finds a way to begin.

"You familiar with the Enclave, sir?" Well, that's one way to start....
Stockton Stockton chuckles and sets the pen back into the inkwell for the time being. Giving his fingers a cramped stretch and curl, trying to get the kinks out. "Marshal works, or Stockton if ya feel informal," the Marshal was a mercenary before he was a lawman, working both sides of the fence some said. But he's proven to have one goal in mind, the safety of this chosen tribe. "We can get to the sass later then," he quips before lacing his fingers in front of him - a trick he'd seen President Kitty pull more than once. "I'm intimately familiar with the Enclave, yes."
Elsie Surelda offers another little smirk of amusement regarding the sass before that item is, in fact, tabled for a later time. Enclave is on the agenda.

"Well, sir. The Enclave ..." she begins, but then her smirk draws into a slight pout of concern. Her brows draw tighter. She still makes eye contact.

"I suppose I should really begin by tellin' you that what I tell you today, I can't tell you how I've come to know it. I know that'll put you in an unfair position, or might if anything sounds of interest to you. But truth be told I'd rather you be in this position than me. I s'poze I'm selfish that way. But before I go on, I just wanna say that much."

She watches him, tilting her head slightly to one side while she considers him considering what she's said. It ruffles her hair and a bit falls from behind her ear; she tucks it back behind once again.
Stockton Stockton grunts a little, "Marshal if you gotta be formal, don't call me sir," he gets enough of that shit from the Militiamen. Then eye contact is made and his feral browns focus sharply on the woman. Watching. Calculating.

"So if'n I'm gettin' the jist of this. You happen to know somethin' but can't tell me how or why you know this thing. But the burden of knowin' it is somethin' you'd rather someone else bear insteada you?" He asks to clarify perhaps, or maybe get her to see how crazy that sounds? Who knows. Either way he doesn't really move from his regal position in that chair.

"And what happens when I drag yah 'round wit me as my corraboration for anythin' of interest you might be about to tell me?"
Elsie "Sorry, Marshal." Sully does actually seem apologetic for that. The change of tone in the man before her is reflected in her own face, and she bites gently on the lower right corner of her mouth while she listens to him.

"Yes S-....Stockton. Yes, Marshal Stockton." She caught herself! That's something. "It ain't a matter of burden. Telling you ain't going to make me know it any less. But tellin' you is making this known to someone who might be able to do somethin' about it, where I can't. Someone with authority, someone people trust. That's what a lawman is, isn't that so?"

The young woman shifts slightly in her seat, tucking the ruffled dress a bit tighter under her rear in a slightly nervous gesture. She's composed, but she's not perfect. "As for draggin' me about, I do very much wish you wouldn't, if it could be helped, S-Stockton." It seems to be easier to catch herself and correct to Stockton than to Marshal. "Anyone besides you asked me how I know what I know, I'd have to tell 'em the same. So I doubt I'd be much use to you in that regard. But ..." she meets his gaze even still. "It is important, or I'd not come to bother you on this lovely day."
Stockton Stockton nods once, waving off the apology with a warm smile - still rather toothsome. The half-tribal just can't hide that bestial side of himself. The second time catching herself he just smirks a little and waves so that she continue before his hands return to being clasped. "That's supposedly so, the people voted me in or something crazy like that," he admits with a little self-depricating smile. Finally the tension of getting to the point has him clawing towards the stubbed out cigarillo and a match. His thumb strikes the tip and he takes a few slow puffs to get the nerves calm once more. "Sorry," he says quietly indicating that now smoldering cigar as he chews on it lightly.

"Alright, so what's so important that you came all the way here to tell me?"
Elsie He seems to be willing and able to go on and hear about it, so of course Surelda's ready to talk about it. The cigarillo doesn't seem to bother her in the least; she doesn't even look at it. "If they voted for you, then I suppose it's all true," she says, and then continues on.

"The Enclave, S-Stockton. Well, I know you folks, El Dorado folks I mean, were looking into some nukes the Enclave might've had back some times." Back before Sully had ever come to this here place, but that little tidbid goes unoffered.

"Thing is, S-Stockton, Marshal Stockton, there's more. Nukes, I mean. And they'll be used to melt the city, like in the old days. The war days."

She sits back, looking almost relieved at this little piece of information that she's managed to convey to him. When she sits up, it's a little taller, a little straighter. Like there's a real burden that's been lifted.

Whatever the source of this information, she clearly believes it.
Stockton Stockton blinks slowly and stares at the girl for a long moment. Waiting for the crazy to wash over him. He just slowly blinks again as she speaks. Sully as she introduced herself as more than a little bit of the man's intense focus. "We found some, someone launched a few, we figured that was it yeah," he confirms before looking with a quirked eyebrow, the scarred one, lifting up sharply as she explains that they have more and that they'll be used most certainly on the city of El Dorado.

Puff...puff...puff. Stare. He is looking at her even as she straightens up having unloaded that burden. "When, from where, do you know anythin' other than the fact that it's comin'? And how? You a seer er somethin'? Catch a random radio signal?"
Elsie "S'no such things as seers, Marshal Stockton," Surelda tells the man. She says it quick and off the cuff, as though it were a simple stated fact.

She glances away for a brief moment when she says it, the first time eye contact has been broken since she commented on the drunk.

Then she's looking at him again. She shakes her head slightly at his questions. "Like I told you, I can't tell you how I've come to know it. And in truth, I don't know that it's the Enclave. Just knowin' they had nukes before, and knowing there's nukes comin' I sussed together the Enclave connection. Suppose it could be anyone, but it'd have to be anyone with nukes. And I know since you folks had found some before, that there might be more."

For what it might be worth, Surelda looks infinitely apologetic. "I dunno if it makes you feel any better, but they might be lookin' to New Vegas as well. But the nukes ... that's for El Dorado. A meltin' city of gold."
Stockton Stockton snorts once, it's not derisive, but it's kind of dismissive, as she pops out a line he's heard a thousand times before. But he doesn't press, he doesn't poke, instead he just shakes his head and lets her come back around to lookin him in the eyes again. "Well, that at least tells us a good place to focus. And seein' as Solomon is still parta that gang, well I can only s'pect that it's true. Thank you fer tellin' me. I'm not exactly sure how I can go 'bout effectin' any kind of change to that scenario, but I'm gonna try." He pauses a moment and gives the girl a warm smile, "Yah done good, thank you."

With that he glances over at the drunk who's just now kind of coming too, "You don' tusslin' in the streets, Diego?" he asks the man who only grunts an affirmative. Standing up, he pushes over to the cell and opens it up, the stumbling man shuffles up to the gate and presents his cuffed wrists. With a deft motion the Marshal removes them and sends the man on his way.

Settling into a lean at the desk he gives Sully a tip of an invisible wide-brimmed hat, "Much obliged, Sully. You get any more inklings or more details, you let me know yeah?"
Elsie Surelda blinks once, twice, rather owlishly at Stockton as he seems to just ... accept all of this without pressing further. In truth, she was rather expecting this to be something of a mess to deal with. And yet it's all so smooth. So, at first, she doesn't quite catch his signals that the interview is over. Slowly, after a breath or two, she rises and nods. The cloak over the back of the chair is plucked up and draped gently over her arm. She strokes a hand down the fine fabric. And indeed, it is fine; both her dress and her cloak are high quality. She'll stand there and watch the exchange; watch the drunk go about his way. Once he's safely out the door, she turns to look back to Stockton again. Still a bit bewildered, but accepting of it.

"Of course," she assures him, and there's a touch of passion behind her voice. She means it; she will come to him again. But she doesn't turn to go, not quite yet. Instead she tilts her head slightly to one side in a gesture of curiousness. "So it's true, what folks in town're saying? It's the former Mayor Solomon that's fussin' with the Enclave?"
Stockton Stockton is just a little bit suspicious, but he also has learned that the citizens of El Dorado come with baggage and secret packages gallore. Everyone has something they're trying to hide or too afraid to reveal. He's just learned to roll with the waves of life and take each bit witht he stoic demeaner now synonymous with the Marshal. Standing at his full height, the large man adjusts his duster some, already sitting broadly on his shoulders due to the armor underneath. He tucks the coat away a moment to strap himself with his gunbelt, the twin desert eagles in their special holster that fits at the small of his back. The utility belt straps on next before the duster drops back in a swish. She doesn't leave though, and now they're standing there at the end of the desk. A solemn nod comes. "He's in wit them, maybe the NCR, he's using whoever he can to further his goals. I looked the bastard in the eyes before he left me for dead in a ditch with my men," his teeth grit slightly and his cigarillo glows at the end as he sucks on the nicotine. "I'm going to personally see that sonovabitch buried in the dirt, or die in the effort."
Elsie Surelda gives little reaction to the brief story that Stockton emparts upon her. Well, little beyond what would be expected. A widening of eyes, a softening of features in sympathy, a drawing up of the lips in a pensive, frowny pout. But through it all, eye contact. Upward eye contact, at this stage. "I'm so sorry, Marshal." Because that does sound terrible.

But there's something else in her features too. Something else Stockton might be able to see or smell, depending on if it's his civilized or tribal side that notes it. It's fear. Not fear of Solomon, though, or just general fear of the story on someone else's behalf.

It's a fear of Stockton, and an attempt to hide it.

Perhaps that's why the interview closes so soon after that, starting with a breaking of eye contact as Surelda turns to step away, to put some distance between them. She pauses by the door. "I'll letcha know if I do hear anything else relatin' to what we discussed, Marshal. Thank you so much for takin' the time; it is appreciated."
Stockton Stockton takes that empathy, the sympathies presented for the loss of life on that day. He just grunts around his cigarillo and shakes his head, "We all knew what we were gettin' into. One man more'n the rest of us, but we knew it was a possible outcome. I just want justice fer them, fer this town." His voice is a quiet rumble, something akin to a growl. But his shoulders relax some, their height dropping as he exhales through his nostrils.

A big mitt reaches for his helmet, and he pauses a moment catching those micro-ticks, the slight shift in scent that goes from comfort to fear. Confusion streaks across his features as she shrinks away from him. The hustle is noted, and while part of him bunches up, ready to pursue - there's the logical side that stands down from any hostile actions. Instead he just slowly ambles towards the door after her. Even making it into the street while he speaks his mind, a gentle almost paternal tone to his voice.

"Ya do that, Sully, been a pleasure meetin' yah. Should somethin' come up, and I ain't 'ere, you can prolly find me in Avalon, yeah?" he offers with a smile over his shoulder at her, she's likely still putting distance in a hurry, he just keeps mozying. "Have a good day," he insists as a parting shot.
Elsie Sully's momentary flash of fear is enough that she intended to take her leave, albiet politely. But if the man wants to walk her to the door, she certainly won't run away. She'll offer a warm, even pleasant smile and step out with him. Why, she'll even pause at the street with him, to complete their conversation.

"Avalon, yes. I'll remember, Marshal Stockton. And thank you again for your time." Which direction is he going? She'll move in the opposite one.

But at least she's unburdened, and he can likely see that as much as anything else. She keeps the cloak in her arm for now, allowing the fading sun's rays to warm her skin. And she is still standing tall, seeming a bit more at ease for sharing her burden. Sucks to you on the receiving end of that.

Of course, she'll glance back at him once more time. Perhaps just for a sight of him, or perhaps just to check and make sure there's no one behind her, or perhaps some other reason entirely.