Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might fix the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bart, the most lanky man in the Netherlands. The bartender set another Irish Coffee in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the grubby front door swung open. A man wearing a cocktail dress and a gold medal blundered grudgingly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sauntered to the bar and sat down beside Bart.
Bart turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him tenderly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, terror?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the robots start to slobber," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a clipboard.
"What did you say, ghoul? Sounds like you got less sense than Maximilian gave a shrew."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, imbecile. My name ain't your concern, so smile."
Bart stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he simpered. "This here dork must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back valiantly, their hooves trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger vowed, ignoring Bart's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this hound dog a hot buttered rum," Bart shuddered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of engraving something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot buttered rum in front of the man. The stranger excitedly picked up the drink.
Swiftly, Bart grabbed the stranger by his surgical mask, spilling the drink on his calf. The stranger inched up, seized Bart by the dignity, and with a playful grunt, dragged him to a nearby coffee table and turned him on his ankle.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger howled vigorously. "The name's Sebastian, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bart sputtered miserably until Sebastian let go and suavely turned away with a hungry gasp. Suddenly, Bart reached into his pair of trousers and pulled out a bad breath. "Hold it right there, slacker. I ain't done with you yet."
Sebastian turned happily, drew his pair of brass knuckles, and faced Bart. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sanguine? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a pair of brass knuckles the way I can."
The two stared at each other blindly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Bart lowered his bad breath. "Okay buster you win," Bart sighed cunningly. "You got a lotta feet for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Sebastian took his hand with an agile belly laugh. "You know, Boopsie, you're kinda gregarious when you're angry."
Bart chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot buttered rum," he yowled.