A lady hitting her 60s, Sal is a little plump and still attractive enough to make a living by her charms; vivacity making up for the ravages of time and a dissolute lifestyle. A little short-sighted and hard of hearing, she sometimes has to resort to her reading glasses and ear trumpet, even while at work.
Traits & Characteristics
Philosophical, cheerful and quite lively, depending on the amount of booze she has imbibed. A fierce defender of her friends and a somewhat unpredictable and dangerous enemy of those who do them wrong.
Employment
Self employed lady of the evening.
Expertise
[Censored]
Aliases / Nicknames
Sally, Sal
Residense(s)
Shares a hovel with another working girl in a back alley near the saloon.
Kith & Kin
Husband (dead)
Children (none since her first clumsy abortion)
Life Events
WIP
Character Notes
Friends with Arabella Mudd and Caroline Mundy, whom she treats to motherly, if rather suspect, advice.
Again Sarah shook her head, "Unfortunately, I won't be able to interview you today. Perhaps I can talk to my editor, Mr. McVey and tell him that you are interested in telling your story and talk to you another day. As it is, I have my orders and I am here to see someone else."
"McVey?!" queried Sally "Huh!" she didn't look to impressed by that idea, and was quickly losing interest in the woman, now she knew she wasn't a rival hooker. Mrs Adams tended to live very much in the present tense: promises of the future gain didn't really float her boat. She needed a drink now, or a customer who would give her money for one.
She smiled again, hoping that her answer would placate the woman. The best thing for now was to get her story and leave as soon as she could. Turning to the bartender, she leaned slightly forward and asked, "Could you tell me where I could Mr. Hiriam Priest?"
Turning to the bartender, she leaned slightly forward and asked, "Could you tell me where I could find Mr. Hiram Priest?"
"Sure ma'am. He is sitting at that table over there, " Ralph pointed in the proper direction, "the old fella shuffling the card deck."
While the reporter headed over to Priest, Ralph had something to say to Sally Adams.
"Hey...word of warning. You aren't supposed to be bothering the customers and especially drummin' up drinks. That job belongs to Caroline and you damn well know it."
Sally screwed up her eyes to focus them on the big bearded barkeep and then waved a dismissive hand at hm. "Oh I ain't drummin' up drinks, I need a drink!" she informed him, lurching a little sideways. She was pretty well oiled already.
"Don't let her catch you doin' that either. Trust me, you don't want her mad at you. She could make it very painful. And that is my only warning."
Sally leaned against the bar to steady herself and shook her head. "No, no, no ,no ,no..." she slurred. "Me and Calorine... we're like that..." she held up her crossed fingers. "See, she does the drinks number, little Alabella she plays the piana, and I entertain the gentlemen who're feelin' a little lonely." She was telling him what he already knew of course, but drunk people tended to do that.
"See..." she leaned over the bar now and tried to wave him closer in to him, as if to impart some great secret, as her low cut dress struggled to contain her bulging assets.
"These fellers you got in here right now're either never been lonely or they're just a great big bunch o' pansies cause I can't pick up a trick fer love nor money." she confided sadly. It didn't occur to her that it might be more the quality of the merchandise on sale, rather than a lack of appetite by the buying customer base, that was causing a fluctuation in the market.
As Arabella let go of Mrs Thornton-Carlton's arm and was dragged off, kicking and screaming, by Caroline for a good dressing down in the kitchen (Arabella actually secretly enjoyed such dramatic scenes) a few men went to move in on the pretty new stranger in the bar. However, they were forestalled by Mrs Adams who, drawn by the squeaky voice of the young Virginian, high pitched enough to cut through her tinnitus, and seeing the blurred figure of another woman in the place, had drawn out her seeing glasses and espied a well dressed young doxy standing at the bar.
She hustled over.
"Hey you, this patch is taken! Go sell your stuff elsewhere!" she warned off the competition.
Then she screwed up her eyes and groped around in the whiskey sloshing around her skull and found a memory floating on top of it there.
"Oh, hold on, you're that writer lady ain't ya?" she slurred. "Sarah somethin' somethin'. Yeah, I heard of you, guess you've come in here to write a story about us poor, common people for your fancy magazines, huh?" she guessed "Lookin' down your nose at how we're all boozed up and de... degenerate!" Didn't know where she'd pulled that word from! Pretty good, she thought.
She was about to call her out to the gang in the saloon, but then an idea hit her, she shifted gears to a more friendly tone "Hey, you wanna write a story about me?" she smiled sweetly. "Oooh, I could tell you stories that'd make your readers' hair curl! Let's get a couple o' drinks and sit down over there an' I can tell you aaaaall about it. mine's a whiskey, straight... double." she purred.