Greg Daley

*grins, swinging well-muscled arms* Greg Daley.

Right, yer real name?

*still grinning* Greg Daley.

Shoa . . . age?

*laughs loudly* Twenty-four.

Appearance?

*grins* Only da most stunningly handsome fella a goil ever had da good luck ta meet. *Daley is, sadly, nearly as attractive as he believes himself to be. He stands six feet tall, with bright blond hair and gorgeous blue eyes. Daley is well dressed, but not too well-dressed, considering his job as bouncer. His shirts, whatever the weather, are always short-sleeved to give freedom of movement in a fight and - not accidently - to allow any females present a good look at his muscles*

What's yer story?

*grins* Da ladies a' New York were prayin' fer a miracle, an' I dropped from heaven ta answer deir prayers.

Dat da one yer tellin' da bulls?

*continues swinging his arms* I'm deir worst nightmare - dey don't need me tellin' 'em dat.

Single tanight, or datin'?

I'm always single till I get off woik. *sees a woman walking down the hall to the gameroom and watches her with unabashed pleasure until she's out of sight* Hate ta see a goil off cryin'. *smirks*

Any weapons? Ya drop 'em on da table.

*flexes his arms* Do I need weapons? *does, actually carry a revolver in his belt and a knife in his boot* *is, as the Nickel's bouncer, one of the few permitted to carry a weapon in the building*

What's yer game?

*notes the same woman from earlier leaving and watches her out* I only play in private.

Anythin' else we should know?

*laughs* Not dat I can t'ink of.