The scene in the saloon is unfolding before my eyes, as if I was front and center at Ford's theatre, instead of a backwater town in bumfuck county, Nowhere USA. My fingertips tapping idly on the handle of my pistol, I loathe having a good drink interrupted, and consider, however momentarily, putting a bullet in each of these would be combatants, if only for the preservation of peace and quiet. My hand slides off the shooting iron, however, deciding that opening up in town, even as desolate a town as this, has to come with better cause than a simple scrap between to lusty bitches.
"The danger in confrontations such as these," I remark to the bar man, who's shifted towards me, perhaps nervous that one of the aggrieved parties is concealing something stronger than a whiskey bottle, "Is of both parties sustaining mortal injury. But, I'm rarely THAT fuckin' lucky." Swinging off my stool lightly, my left hand snatching the bottle, I turn towards the door. "Enjoy the show, partner. I'm taking this someplace quiet."
Striding out into the desolate, windblown dust patch that passes for this hamlet's main drag, I take a slow pull from the bottle. My eyes surveying the surrounding buildings carefully. After all, where you see one rat, there's bound to be more. A dark figure flashes in my peripheral vision, and spinning, I just catch a fleeting glimpse of Lexi as she darts around the livery. "Quite the intriguing development" I purr to myself, watching the most unwelcome of the great emancipator's legacies, (and the 2nd biggest reason why a cowboy who speaks well of Lincoln around these parts shouldn't go making many plans for the future) prowl around after an as yet unseen prey.
Crossing to the plank board walk opposite the saloon, I settle onto a bench, swinging my feet up to rest over the hand rail. Tilting back my hat as I take another slow pull off my bottle. "Lovely day for it, after all. Looks like this town will be adding a few more residents to Boot Hill. Luckily, I always carry enough lead for any occasion!"
