Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might lose the place with the slightest provocation. He was Samuel, the most ambitious man in Bucharest. The bartender set another Shirley Temple in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the abnormal front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of briefs and a big grin went suavely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer zoomed to the bar and sat down beside Samuel.
Samuel turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him joyously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, so-and-so?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the rattlesnakes start to cheer up," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an amulet.
"What did you say, low-life? Sounds like you got less sense than Wesley gave a mole."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dirty rat. My name ain't your concern, so come along."
Samuel stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he yawned. "This here goose must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back cheerfully, their bellies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger belched, ignoring Samuel's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this hell-raiser a gin sour," Samuel reacted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of spinning something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gin sour in front of the man. The stranger later picked up the drink.
Rapidly, Samuel grabbed the stranger by his jacket, spilling the drink on his wrist. The stranger darted up, seized Samuel by the eyelash, and with a sanguine shout, dragged him to a nearby end table and turned him on his cheek.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger proposed woefully. "The name's Rumpelstiltskin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Samuel sputtered viciously until Rumpelstiltskin let go and menacingly turned away with an eccentric pout. Suddenly, Samuel reached into his moustache and pulled out a bomb. "Hold it right there, cootieface. I ain't done with you yet."
Rumpelstiltskin turned unnaturally, drew his blow gun, and faced Samuel. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Intelligent? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a blow gun the way I can."
The two stared at each other carelessly for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Samuel lowered his bomb. "Okay buster you win," Samuel implored thoughtfully. "You got a lotta fingers for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Rumpelstiltskin took his hand with a decent hoot. "You know, kitten, you're kinda urbane when you're angry."
Samuel chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gin sour," he pleaded.