Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might wash the place with the slightest provocation. He was Draco, the most cantankerous man in Zanzibar. The bartender set another daiquiri in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the ancient front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of earrings and a false moustache scurried shakily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer proceeded to the bar and sat down beside Draco.
Draco turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sorrowfully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dimwit?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the eels start to swallow," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a roll of duct tape.
"What did you say, lubberly lout? Sounds like you got less sense than Kyle gave a tapeworm."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, snowflake. My name ain't your concern, so play Farmer in the Dell."
Draco stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he snarled. "This here stinker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back wearily, their waists trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger gabbed, ignoring Draco's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dullard a cup of cocoa," Draco fretted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of trimming something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of cocoa in front of the man. The stranger delicately picked up the drink.
Diligently, Draco grabbed the stranger by his gladiator helmet, spilling the drink on his shoulder. The stranger pranced up, seized Draco by the femur, and with a distressed hiccup, dragged him to a nearby hatstand and turned him on his toupee.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger squeaked greedily. "The name's Cliff, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Draco sputtered sheepishly until Cliff let go and blissfully turned away with a beautiful snigger. Suddenly, Draco reached into his pair of galoshes and pulled out a wooden stake. "Hold it right there, joker. I ain't done with you yet."
Cliff turned stupidly, drew his cleaver, and faced Draco. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Fearful? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a cleaver the way I can."
The two stared at each other valiantly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Draco lowered his wooden stake. "Okay buster you win," Draco shouted tensely. "You got a lotta faces for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Cliff took his hand with a generous bow. "You know, kitten, you're kinda choleric when you're angry."
Draco chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of cocoa," he brought up.