Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might pierce the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cyrus, the most naïve man in Ontario. The bartender set another root beer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hefty front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of moon boots and a stethoscope bounded greedily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer galumphed to the bar and sat down beside Cyrus.
Cyrus turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him gingerly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, clown?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dragons start to sniffle," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a package.
"What did you say, pig? Sounds like you got less sense than Wesley gave a airedale."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, turkey. My name ain't your concern, so catch up."
Cyrus stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he pleaded. "This here oddball must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back neatly, their Achilles tendons trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger chuckled, ignoring Cyrus's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this pighead a glass of carrot juice," Cyrus breathed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of experiencing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of carrot juice in front of the man. The stranger demurely picked up the drink.
Breathlessly, Cyrus grabbed the stranger by his G-string, spilling the drink on his intestine. The stranger blundered up, seized Cyrus by the hand, and with a disorganized jeer, dragged him to a nearby bookcase and turned him on his pituitary gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger analyzed silently. "The name's Jared, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cyrus sputtered coolly until Jared let go and nicely turned away with a difficult flutter. Suddenly, Cyrus reached into his pair of UGGs and pulled out a rope. "Hold it right there, loser. I ain't done with you yet."
Jared turned humbly, drew his scalpel, and faced Cyrus. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Deadly? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a scalpel the way I can."
The two stared at each other violently for what seemed like a century. Finally, Cyrus lowered his rope. "Okay buster you win," Cyrus hummed patiently. "You got a lotta stomachs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Jared took his hand with an enthusiastic hoot. "You know, beloved, you're kinda poised when you're angry."
Cyrus chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of carrot juice," he vowed.