Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might cover the place with the slightest provocation. He was René, the most bald man in Mauritania. The bartender set another root beer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the ruined front door swung open. A man wearing an apron and a floppy hat struggled irritably into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer blundered to the bar and sat down beside René.
René turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him shyly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, hipster?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the muskrats start to burble," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a doll.
"What did you say, sucker? Sounds like you got less sense than Rip gave a bison."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, noodlebrain. My name ain't your concern, so blink."
René stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he began. "This here dummy must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back again, their guts trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger revealed, ignoring René's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this prattling gabbler a glass of carrot juice," René noted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of pruning 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 carefully picked up the drink.
Cheerfully, René grabbed the stranger by his coat, spilling the drink on his chin. The stranger slunk up, seized René by the scalp, and with a disgusting wink, dragged him to a nearby chair and turned him on his buttocks.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger contended daintily. "The name's Stephen, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
René sputtered crazily until Stephen let go and lightly turned away with a wily chuckle. Suddenly, René reached into his cat suit and pulled out a pair of scissors. "Hold it right there, eager beaver. I ain't done with you yet."
Stephen turned madly, drew his sword, and faced René. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Pesky? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a sword the way I can."
The two stared at each other bravely for what seemed like a decade. Finally, René lowered his pair of scissors. "Okay buster you win," René noted hungrily. "You got a lotta toenails for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Stephen took his hand with a self-assured bound. "You know, kitten, you're kinda intrepid when you're angry."
René chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of carrot juice," he smiled.