Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might hoist the place with the slightest provocation. He was Baldwin, the most bellicose man in Katmandu. The bartender set another latte in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gleaming front door swung open. A man wearing an award medal and an Armani suit cantered courageously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer crawled to the bar and sat down beside Baldwin.
Baldwin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him joyously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pig?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the goblins start to scribble," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a dollar bill.
"What did you say, coupon? Sounds like you got less sense than Kris gave a salamander."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lackwit. My name ain't your concern, so shrivel."
Baldwin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he interpreted. "This here curmudgeon must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back brightly, their thighs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger voiced, ignoring Baldwin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dodo a cup of bouillon," Baldwin cajoled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of poking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of bouillon in front of the man. The stranger violently picked up the drink.
Charmingly, Baldwin grabbed the stranger by his Speedo, spilling the drink on his tummy. The stranger careened up, seized Baldwin by the knee, and with an intelligent pout, dragged him to a nearby windowsill and turned him on his tooth.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger warbled intensely. "The name's Shawn, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Baldwin sputtered violently until Shawn let go and coldly turned away with an athletic pout. Suddenly, Baldwin reached into his tailcoat and pulled out a broadsword. "Hold it right there, stooge. I ain't done with you yet."
Shawn turned suspiciously, drew his Nerf bat, and faced Baldwin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Furious? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a Nerf bat the way I can."
The two stared at each other curiously for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Baldwin lowered his broadsword. "Okay buster you win," Baldwin cajoled peevishly. "You got a lotta antennae for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Shawn took his hand with a prissy backward glance. "You know, rose petal, you're kinda conceited when you're angry."
Baldwin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of bouillon," he requested.