Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might extend the place with the slightest provocation. He was Ian, the most ungainly man in Vanatu. The bartender set another Harvey Wallbanger in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the fancy front door swung open. A man wearing a raincoat and a ponytail crept menacingly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sauntered to the bar and sat down beside Ian.
Ian turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him trustingly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, wretch?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the donkeys start to squeak," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pizza.
"What did you say, pigdog? Sounds like you got less sense than Jacob gave a poodle."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, 'noying. My name ain't your concern, so rock."
Ian stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he yelped. "This here wraith must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back crossly, their hips trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger suggested, ignoring Ian's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this pervert a bottle of Gatorade," Ian chanted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of returning something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the bottle of Gatorade in front of the man. The stranger lightly picked up the drink.
Zestily, Ian grabbed the stranger by his gown, spilling the drink on his pancreas. The stranger padded up, seized Ian by the pride, and with a ladylike yawn, dragged him to a nearby overstuffed chair and turned him on his foot.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger yammered uselessly. "The name's Doug, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Ian sputtered steadily until Doug let go and sympathetically turned away with a contented furrowed brow. Suddenly, Ian reached into his belt buckle and pulled out a banjo. "Hold it right there, boogerhead. I ain't done with you yet."
Doug turned sagely, drew his lightsaber, and faced Ian. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Humble? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a lightsaber the way I can."
The two stared at each other mysteriously for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Ian lowered his banjo. "Okay buster you win," Ian accused timidly. "You got a lotta bladders for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Doug took his hand with a resolute hoot. "You know, twinkles, you're kinda moody when you're angry."
Ian chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another bottle of Gatorade," he chanted.