Josie MacPherson. *calmly removes her hat, sets it in her lap, and replaces the long hatpin through her topknot*
Right, yer real name?
Josephine. *neglects to mention that her real last name is Bryne; MacPherson, her mother’s maiden name, was picked up from living with her grandparents for the first fifteen years of her life*
Shoa . . . age?
*raises an eyebrow* Twenty-five.
Appearance? *gives you a once over and smirks* 
Apparently you can see for yourself. *coolly regards Daley with blue eyes, a marked contrast from her tan skin and black hair, signs of one-fourth Indian blood in her veins* *is not very tall, maybe about 5’2”, but carries herself with pride* *certain features, such as her nose, keep her from being conventionally beautiful; instead, she is attractive in an earthy sort of way*
What's yer story?
Spent the last ten years on riverboats with Christine, until Danny was murdered. *her mother and her mother’s lover* Christine witnessed it, and killed herself over it. Serving drinks here is better than going back to my grandparents.
Dat da one yer tellin' da bulls?
They don’t mess with me, I don’t mess with them. We’re all better off that way, don’t you agree?
Single tanight, or datin'?
Which do you want me to be? *doesn’t really care one way or the other if she has a beau or not* *sees emotional attachments as risky; after all, look what happened to her mother*
Any weapons? Ya drop 'em on da table.
*pulls a derringer pistol, engraved with her mother’s initials, from a hidden pocket and gently places it on the table* That’s all, Daley. *neglects to remove the hat pin, or the slender blade sheathed in one of the metal supportsin the busk of her corset, a last resort weapon*
What's yer game?
I don’t gamble anymore. Poker, blackjack, when I did, though. But mostly con games. You know, the bereaved widow, naïve young girl in danger, that sort of thing. Christine and I were good.
Anythin' else we should know?
*smirks slightly* Never drink while gambling. It’s bad for your health.