[Newt's taken up a gig at sindown as a pianist because he's, uh, used a little too much money on the pleasure part of this prompt, if you know what I mean. It wasn't too difficult to adapt his work in something a little more western, something that properly gets the rowdy group into the card-playing, beer-drinking mood. Plus, this place pays him quick and easy, cash right into the hand, no long-standing job to be adhered to. It's pretty cool!
The downside is, of course, the types of company that ends up here sometimes. Sure, a lot of people are just wanting to sit around and drink and bone brothel workers, but there's definitely a good amount that think they're reaaaally something intimidating and special. Braccia was way more controlled than this, that's for sure.
One snobby little gunslinger type with a big chip on his fringed shoulder is giving some old drunk a hard time to Newt's left, and it's getting progressively more and more difficult to ignore it. Newt's bad at shutting up. Really, really bad. Oooh, his nerves are building. Finally, he stomps into standing, slapping his hands on the keys.]
Hey! Will you give it a rest and leave the old guy to drink his two-dozen drinks in peace?!
[There's a twirl of a gun, and the gunslinger in all black aims a thin revolver barrel at Newt's face. The group quiets around them, and Newt's mouth snaps shut as the guy says: "What were you saying, little man? You want me to punch your teeth out with some bullets?"]
sindown GOOD CLEAN GUN
The downside is, of course, the types of company that ends up here sometimes. Sure, a lot of people are just wanting to sit around and drink and bone brothel workers, but there's definitely a good amount that think they're reaaaally something intimidating and special. Braccia was way more controlled than this, that's for sure.
One snobby little gunslinger type with a big chip on his fringed shoulder is giving some old drunk a hard time to Newt's left, and it's getting progressively more and more difficult to ignore it. Newt's bad at shutting up. Really, really bad. Oooh, his nerves are building. Finally, he stomps into standing, slapping his hands on the keys.]
Hey! Will you give it a rest and leave the old guy to drink his two-dozen drinks in peace?!
[There's a twirl of a gun, and the gunslinger in all black aims a thin revolver barrel at Newt's face. The group quiets around them, and Newt's mouth snaps shut as the guy says: "What were you saying, little man? You want me to punch your teeth out with some bullets?"]