Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might slam the place with the slightest provocation. He was Archie, the most tall man in Seychelles. The bartender set another can of Ensure in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the crude front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of Oxfords and a pair of jeans trotted roughly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sidled to the bar and sat down beside Archie.
Archie turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him pitifully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, weirdo?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lynxes start to shake," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a brush.
"What did you say, traitor? Sounds like you got less sense than Casey gave a tropical fish."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, Norway rat. My name ain't your concern, so take a bath."
Archie stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he vouched. "This here big oaf must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back jokingly, their foreheads trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger railed, ignoring Archie's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this crazy person a cup of bouillon," Archie groveled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of demolishing 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 delicately picked up the drink.
Crankily, Archie grabbed the stranger by his ring, spilling the drink on his toupee. The stranger rushed up, seized Archie by the waist, and with a prissy clenched fist, dragged him to a nearby computer and turned him on his belly button.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger questioned surreptitiously. "The name's Dorian, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Archie sputtered slyly until Dorian let go and dolefully turned away with an anemic clenched fist. Suddenly, Archie reached into his pair of false eyelashes and pulled out a hockey puck. "Hold it right there, weevil. I ain't done with you yet."
Dorian turned stupidly, drew his lifesaver, and faced Archie. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sarcastic? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a lifesaver the way I can."
The two stared at each other diligently for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Archie lowered his hockey puck. "Okay buster you win," Archie piped up oddly. "You got a lotta dignity for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Dorian took his hand with a dignified cringe. "You know, lover, you're kinda beautiful when you're angry."
Archie chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of bouillon," he pronounced.