Ben Wade is greeted with a handful of surprises when he enters the bar.
One is delicious.
Another is unexpected, to say the least.
And the last, well. He never minds this particular request so much.
"Happy to," he tells the counter, while he withdraws what's sure to be a spectacular cherry tart from the basket at his elbow. "As long as you don't mind me askin' a favor of you."
A napkin appears.
"Now that's just lewd," he says, smirking. "Flattered as I am, I'll have to say no, ma'am. What I need is for you to hold on to a couple things for me -- if you'd be so kind, of course."
Moments later, Ben's signature black hat and his infamous gun are in Bar's care, where they'll remain for the next few weeks, if not months.
He gives the bartop an affectionate half-smile before rounding the counter, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he goes.
Not long afterward, the specials board bears his uniform scrawl.
While he waits for customers, he helps himself to that tart -- which is, predictably, delectable -- and a glass of milk punch.