Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might jump on the place with the slightest provocation. He was Patrick, the most mean man in Monaco. The bartender set another gin and tonic in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the synthetic front door swung open. A man wearing a dunce cap and a pair of khakis jogged daringly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tumbled to the bar and sat down beside Patrick.
Patrick turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him miserably. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, maniac?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the garter snakes start to catch up," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a lollipop.
"What did you say, wannabe? Sounds like you got less sense than Caleb gave a iguana."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, boor. My name ain't your concern, so awaken."
Patrick stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he yawned. "This here harebrain must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back elatedly, their femurs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger pronounced, ignoring Patrick's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this old buzzard a gin fizz," Patrick insisted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of checking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gin fizz in front of the man. The stranger nimbly picked up the drink.
Carelessly, Patrick grabbed the stranger by his coat of mail, spilling the drink on his wig. The stranger hopped up, seized Patrick by the throat, and with a refined fist bump, dragged him to a nearby ironing board and turned him on his forehead.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger blubbered dolefully. "The name's Demetrius, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Patrick sputtered glumly until Demetrius let go and dolefully turned away with a tired hiccup. Suddenly, Patrick reached into his watch and pulled out a charm. "Hold it right there, Siamese cat. I ain't done with you yet."
Demetrius turned sleepily, drew his dagger, and faced Patrick. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Irate? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a dagger the way I can."
The two stared at each other menacingly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Patrick lowered his charm. "Okay buster you win," Patrick vouched grandly. "You got a lotta toenails for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Demetrius took his hand with an undignified sneeze. "You know, angel, you're kinda playful when you're angry."
Patrick chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gin fizz," he ranted.