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milliways_bar2005-02-16 08:27 pm
shoot-dont-talk.livejournal.com) wrote in milliways_bar2005-02-16 08:27 pm
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The front door of the bar swings open, and in swaggers a man wearing a -- slightly dusty -- fine suit with a ruffled shirt under it. The effect would be nice if the shirt wasn't open at the collar, exposing a wild thatch of chest hair. He reeks of cheap cologne, and his hair has -- alas! -- not been combed for a few days.
He has a very big gun -- the butt has a design done in inlaid pearl -- in a holster at his side. There's a rawhide loop threaded through a steel eyelet embedded in the butt of the revolver. The loop is around his neck. You can never be too careful.
He sweeps the hat from his head, and surveys his surroundings. Then he turns around and looks at the door he just came through. He'd walked through batwings. This door was...a door. His eyes narrow.
"Hey...this no saloon!"
Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez has come to the bar at the end of the universe.
And he's thirsty.
He has a very big gun -- the butt has a design done in inlaid pearl -- in a holster at his side. There's a rawhide loop threaded through a steel eyelet embedded in the butt of the revolver. The loop is around his neck. You can never be too careful.
He sweeps the hat from his head, and surveys his surroundings. Then he turns around and looks at the door he just came through. He'd walked through batwings. This door was...a door. His eyes narrow.
"Hey...this no saloon!"
Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez has come to the bar at the end of the universe.
And he's thirsty.