text: With a *bang*, the doors of the saloon burst open, nearly flying off their hinges. Where they were now stood a shadowy cowpoke, with a big iron on his hip. He took a look around (which had his big ears swinging in the breeze), before waltzing up to the bar counter, and taking a seat on one of the various stools. All the patrons kept their gaze on him a moment longer, before returning to their business. The bartender walked over to him, polishing a wine glass. “What'll you be having sir, on this fine evening?” asked the bartender, his beak clacking against itself with every word. “A shot of tequila, if you wouldn’t mind.” replied Austin, flipping the bird a coin. “And don’t call me sir, the name’s austin” continued the rabbit. Snatching the silver dollar out of the air, the bartender put down the glass and grabbed a smaller one. He took it over to a keg and filled it up at the tap. Then, he slid it down the counter, where Austin caught it in his fuzzy hand. He quickly downed the shot, the booze burning his throat and sending a tingle up his floppity ears, making every strand of fur stand on end. “Well mister Austin, what’s your business round’ these parts? I’d reckon I've not seen your face before.” setting the glass back on the counter, he replied with a smirk “ Well, if you must know. I’m here looking for an outlaw, calls himself Wilson wilks. About yea’ tall snake, green scales, missin’ an eye. Kinda’ hard to miss, actually. You by chance wouldn’t happen to remember seein’ a fellow like that, would ya? '' the bartender’s beak opened to speak, but no words came out. His gaze drifted to the side of Austin, and his face went pale. It looked like he’d seen a ghost. After a moment of awkward silence, Austin piped up. “Uh sir, is there a problem?” snapped out of his daze by the jackrabbit’s voice, the bartender managed a reply “uh, sorry mister, can’t say I have.” midway through the sentence the avian snuck a look at his pocket watch. “Well, would you look at the time. Sorry mister Austin, afraid I’m past due to close up shop. Last call for drinks fellas, last call!'' At this, most of the patrons simply got up and walked out, but a few of them walked over to the counter. one shambling, clearly drunk. After they’d made their orders and downed their shots, they too made their way out the door. Once the saloon was clear, Austin spoke up. “Well, that’s a shame. Hey, think I could get another shot of tequila fore’ you close up shop?” to which the bartender sighed, and answered “I suppose'' he grabbed the shot glass he’d left from his last one and refilled it. He slid it down the counter, to be caught by Austin's furred hand. He downed it and got up but set back the glass, before walking out. Right before he took a step through the doors, the bartender spoke “Oh, and mister austin. Good luck!” Austin looked back, and was about to ask what the luck was for, until a gunshot rang out, followed by a stray bullet embedding itself in the wall next to him. With this he turned his gaze to the source of the slug which was a shadowy figure, obscured by the low sun. Austin didn’t need to see his face, that cheap shot said it all. “Wilks! I’ve been looking for you, but I must say: It’s all too kind of ya’ to do the work for me.” With a smirk, the scaly sharp-shooter proclaimed “Big words from someone who’ll last about as long as a pint of whiskey in a five hand game a’ poker” the time for talk over, their hands slowly went to their hips, closing around the open holsters. The town fell silent, save for the soft rustling of a tumbleweed as it rolled by. The moment felt like an eternity, as they both waited for the other to make a move. In an instant, they both drew and fired at once, yet only one of the bullets hit their marks. The snake hit the ground with a *thud*, as a poorly-aimed bullet whizzed past Austin's ear. He deposited his big iron, his muzzle still smoking, back to his holster. With that he walked over to the scaly mass that lay in the dirt, and hoisted his adversary's green tail up, draping it over his shoulder. And, with a grunt, he started the walk to the sheriff’s office. As he dragged the snake, the slithery bugger coughed, a few drops of blood coming up. With a raspy voice, he managed weakly “nice ssssshhot” and with the end of the thought, he went limp.