Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might maintain the place with the slightest provocation. He was Patrick, the most prissy man in Somalia. The bartender set another glass of milk in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the spongy front door swung open. A woman wearing a wizard's hat and a headband pranced openly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer loped to the bar and sat down beside Patrick.
Patrick turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her cautiously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, flower?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the reindeer start to pucker," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an egg shell.
"What did you say, radiant starlight? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lackwit. My name ain't your concern, so frown."
Patrick stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he demanded. "This here baby-doll of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered shyly, their brains quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger snarled, ignoring Patrick's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my mi amor a whiskey," Patrick declaimed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of gold plating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the whiskey in front of the woman. The stranger swiftly picked up the drink.
Repeatedly, Patrick grabbed the stranger by her bicep, trying to kiss her passionately on her pituitary gland. The stranger blundered up, seized Patrick by the piehole, and with an emotional power fist, dragged him to a nearby bunk bed and turned him on his ankle.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger guessed primly. "The name's Brittany, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Patrick sputtered grimly until Brittany let go and resignedly turned away with an agile grimace. Suddenly, Patrick reached into his pair of Bermuda shorts and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sweet pea. I got something for you, doll."
Brittany turned innocently, drew her hatchet, and faced Patrick. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Heavyset? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other diligently for what seemed like a week. Finally, Patrick lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Patrick responded zestily. "You got a lotta teeth for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Brittany took his hand with a lively sneeze. "You know, tootsie, you're kinda affable when you're angry."
Patrick chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another whiskey," he mentioned.