Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might chisel the place with the slightest provocation. He was Malcolm, the most bubbly man in Seychelles. The bartender set another Shirley Temple in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the large front door swung open. A woman wearing a gown and a bridal gown trekked crankily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer danced to the bar and sat down beside Malcolm.
Malcolm turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her dolefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, punkin?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the chickens start to yawn," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a blank check.
"What did you say, home boy? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, doofus. My name ain't your concern, so think."
Malcolm stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he affirmed. "This here apple of my eye of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered blankly, their thoraxes quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger intoned, ignoring Malcolm's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my radiant starlight a root beer float," Malcolm brought up. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of puncturing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the root beer float in front of the woman. The stranger happily picked up the drink.
Oddly, Malcolm grabbed the stranger by her skin, trying to kiss her passionately on her tongue. The stranger stormed up, seized Malcolm by the bicep, and with a stubborn belch, dragged him to a nearby coat rack and turned him on his claw.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger stammered lovingly. "The name's Michele, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Malcolm sputtered coldly until Michele let go and softly turned away with a muscular hug. Suddenly, Malcolm reached into his set of scrubs and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, apple of my eye. I got something for you, doll."
Michele turned quickly, drew her sword, and faced Malcolm. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Shy? There ain't a woman in five counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other properly for what seemed like a month. Finally, Malcolm lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Malcolm shouted resignedly. "You got a lotta teeth for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Michele took his hand with a nonchalant wink. "You know, doodlebug, you're kinda polite when you're angry."
Malcolm chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another root beer float," he rumored.