07-10-2015, 07:24 PM
Scorning scowls flashed up to the newcomer, who had entered the bar in a gentle yet confident stride. The soft chatter and stirring of motion stopped with the screech of the chair and as the door of the bar hung open before slamming shut.
One person stopped mid-guzzle as he slapped down his drink against the bar and turned to give Dean a not-so-warm welcome. The reception didn't seem very open, as the Prime would notice, and the many seething eyes that immediately followed the cowboy's singular confrontational stare seemed the mutual agreement of the entire bar.
The silence drew on for a moment before it nearly hit a precipice, but was suddenly interrupted by the bartender who arrived with his spurs clacking against the hollow wooden panels with each heavy step.
Fresh from a western movie, the man had an ebony leather holster wrapped around his waist, dust-covered pants, and a button-up patterned shirt. The man who conquered the room removed his stetson, hung it on a hook at the door and the atmosphere noticeably began to stir once more.
The man next to Dean sipped his amber brew while curious murmurings came from the corner of the quaint pub.
"I know, did you hear about that too?[/i]" One said veiled in shadow.
"I sure did but ain't nothin gonna stop me from finding that loot." Another whispered in response.
"I hear Rolland 'as got 'is hands full." Another swig was taken from a nearly empty bottle of alcohol, "I's what 'e got comin' to 'im, if ya ask me."
"You got that right Andy, I ev'n heard that more people are gettin' shot around here. I mean, things like justice ain't always civil in this 'ere town, but I heard someone found a body roun' one of the gates! Can ye' believe that?"
"What do you say the story is?" Motives were the juiciest part of gossip, and now half the bar seemed to be listening amongst the ample hubbub.
"Oh a'course it had to do with blood money, but the real question is who done it? They could be in this very bar for all we know..."
The conversation faded as the esteemed bartender served his rounds to his customers. One, much too drunk, complained about watered-down booze. The bar silenced and waited for the showdown to begin.
"Thissss tastes like piss!" The drunkard slurred and wobbled from his seat.
Rather than touch his holster, the bartender sighed as one of his patrons shouted, "Go home Steve, you're drunk."
With a few lazy movements, the gruff-looking bartender threw a kick into the back of the man who had more than disrespected his business. Up until now, the owner of the saloon wasn't much of a talker, but during his next "demonstration," he had claimed his authority among the lively low-lifes and left a question hanging in the room with his hoarse voice, "Anyone else got a problem?"
One person stopped mid-guzzle as he slapped down his drink against the bar and turned to give Dean a not-so-warm welcome. The reception didn't seem very open, as the Prime would notice, and the many seething eyes that immediately followed the cowboy's singular confrontational stare seemed the mutual agreement of the entire bar.
The silence drew on for a moment before it nearly hit a precipice, but was suddenly interrupted by the bartender who arrived with his spurs clacking against the hollow wooden panels with each heavy step.
Fresh from a western movie, the man had an ebony leather holster wrapped around his waist, dust-covered pants, and a button-up patterned shirt. The man who conquered the room removed his stetson, hung it on a hook at the door and the atmosphere noticeably began to stir once more.
The man next to Dean sipped his amber brew while curious murmurings came from the corner of the quaint pub.
"I know, did you hear about that too?[/i]" One said veiled in shadow.
"I sure did but ain't nothin gonna stop me from finding that loot." Another whispered in response.
"I hear Rolland 'as got 'is hands full." Another swig was taken from a nearly empty bottle of alcohol, "I's what 'e got comin' to 'im, if ya ask me."
"You got that right Andy, I ev'n heard that more people are gettin' shot around here. I mean, things like justice ain't always civil in this 'ere town, but I heard someone found a body roun' one of the gates! Can ye' believe that?"
"What do you say the story is?" Motives were the juiciest part of gossip, and now half the bar seemed to be listening amongst the ample hubbub.
"Oh a'course it had to do with blood money, but the real question is who done it? They could be in this very bar for all we know..."
The conversation faded as the esteemed bartender served his rounds to his customers. One, much too drunk, complained about watered-down booze. The bar silenced and waited for the showdown to begin.
"Thissss tastes like piss!" The drunkard slurred and wobbled from his seat.
Rather than touch his holster, the bartender sighed as one of his patrons shouted, "Go home Steve, you're drunk."
With a few lazy movements, the gruff-looking bartender threw a kick into the back of the man who had more than disrespected his business. Up until now, the owner of the saloon wasn't much of a talker, but during his next "demonstration," he had claimed his authority among the lively low-lifes and left a question hanging in the room with his hoarse voice, "Anyone else got a problem?"
![[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35600000/-Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif)
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus