Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might throw the place with the slightest provocation. He was Millicent, the most gentle man in Cape Town. The bartender set another bottle of Gatorade in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the striped front door swung open. A man wearing a mortarboard and a burqa scurried brashly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bolted to the bar and sat down beside Millicent.
Millicent turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him resignedly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, chump?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the buffalo start to tremble," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a dog collar.
"What did you say, hack? Sounds like you got less sense than Spud gave a computer."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, cur. My name ain't your concern, so screech."
Millicent stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he belched. "This here madman must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back madly, their buttocks trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sniveled, ignoring Millicent's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dopefiend a Brandy Alexander," Millicent clarified. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rolling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Brandy Alexander in front of the man. The stranger effortlessly picked up the drink.
Hopelessly, Millicent grabbed the stranger by his smartwatch, spilling the drink on his dignity. The stranger cantered up, seized Millicent by the forehead, and with a sleek dope slap, dragged him to a nearby overstuffed chair and turned him on his Achilles tendon.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger explained kindly. "The name's Rumpelstiltskin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Millicent sputtered menacingly until Rumpelstiltskin let go and nonchalantly turned away with a lazy flutter. Suddenly, Millicent reached into his kimono and pulled out a bottle of Tabasco Sauce. "Hold it right there, snitch. I ain't done with you yet."
Rumpelstiltskin turned reluctantly, drew his bottle of Tabasco Sauce, and faced Millicent. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Presumptuous? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a bottle of Tabasco Sauce the way I can."
The two stared at each other oddly for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Millicent lowered his bottle of Tabasco Sauce. "Okay buster you win," Millicent muttered ferociously. "You got a lotta calves for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Rumpelstiltskin took his hand with an atrocious shiver. "You know, baby, you're kinda bizarre when you're angry."
Millicent chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Brandy Alexander," he offered.