Bar chatter never interested him.  Still, he couldn't help but glance over, tilting his head back slightly, to where a glass just shattered.  Manny had already slipped into the kitchen, coming right back out with an annoyed look at the patron who did the deed.  Being as seedy as it was, the type of thing happened all the time, though that didn't mean Manny liked it.  Frey watched the pink-haired miss who broke the glass explode and grasp at the man who was clearly bugging her, an intensity snapping into the air.  Several others were watching the affair, grinning and practically drooling at the excuse to get up and fight.<br/><br/>Another man stepped up to the two, probably a friend of the obviously hammered offender, and tried to break it up.  The miss was as wired as a threatened snake, every part of her posture indicating she would not hesitate to drop either of them.  Frey pushed his hat back to get a better view, nearly missing the drunk man grab up a glass half-full of amber liquid and smash it against the side of the miss' head.  In an instant there was suddenly the roar of a fight in full swing, punches flying left and right, people sliding across tables and landing on the floor with solid thumps.<br/><br/>Frey loosened his arms from his chest and placed them on the table, relaxed.  He flicked his eyes over individual fights, passing on most of them with either a grunt or an eye roll.  He made it back to the bar where Manny was trying to break up a busboy and some nasty-looking man with a scar.  It didn't work out too well, the scarred man whipping and around and landing a strike to Manny's cheek.  Frey's mouth twisted in a silent snarl, pulling out the larger caliber of his pistols--Bess--and firing it into the ceiling.  Then he did it again.  A third shot rang out before everyone finally stopped their brawling.  He shoved from the booth, holding Bess loosely in his right hand, and walked slowly over to where Manny leaned up on the bar, rubbing his injured face.  He cut an intimidating figure, and the cowboy getup did not go unnoticed.  Sometimes he enjoyed the apprehensive feeling that followed him.  No one knew whether or not to chance a fight with a space cowboy--they weren't the type to lose willingly to anyone and it made them prone to being vicious when attacked.<br/><br/>When he got to the bar, he face the scarred man, olive eyes narrowed.  The man sneered, but Frey beat him to conversation.<br/><br/>"Shame on you," he said, voice quiet, and lacking the accent it held when talking earlier.  "You know what hitting the owner gets you, right?"  He raised Bess, centering the muzzle between the man's eyebrows.  "It gets you dead.  Or, kicked out, whichever I feel like would be better."  The man's tongue darted out to lick his lips in a burst of sudden nervousness.  Frey cocked his head to the side, only slightly considering actually shooting him.  Gram would have his head if she found out, though, so it would probably be best if he didn't.  He pulled the gun away, letting his hand fall back to his side.  "I don't particularly want to waste my ammo on bar scum, though, so it's your lucky day.  Now git.  If you wanna hit the man who keeps this place open for vermin like you again, go ahead.  But next time my finger might be a lot more willing."  The man didn't move, looking halfway afraid and halfway like he was willing to risk punching a space cowboy.  Frey clearly noticed this, reaching out to twist the man to face the entrance sharply.  "I said<span style="font-style: italic">git</span>."  He finally moved in obedience, but managed it far too slow for Frey's taste.  He gave him a shove, sending him stumbling, and then kicked him in the rear for good measure.  He turned away, knowing he'd leave or the other patrons would give him guff for it, now facing the drunk and the miss with fluorescent hair.<br/><br/>"Ah'm afeared it's your turn now.  Both of you.  Go."  The drunk's friend immediately started helping him, and he didn't bother to watch either leave.  Now he was watching Manny sweep the shards of glass off the counter into a rag, grumbling about the "crazy son of gun of a godchild".  Which wasn't technically true; Frey was not Manny's legal godchild, even if he had basically watched him grow up.  Yet it was a minor thing and it never really bothered him.  He holstered Bess, started to hear the smattering of apologies and the groans as men stood or helped one another stand.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFFBF">"Ya know, ya di'n't hafta jump in like that,"</span>Manny said, finally looking to Frey, dark eyes irritated and grateful at once.  Truth was, he pretty much had no control over his impulsive action.  He had barely reined himself in from full-on tackling the man who hit his friend, instinct to protect "pack" jumping to the forefront of his mind.  Which meant the medicine was wearing off and he still had almost half a day of flying left to get home, if he went top speed.  Maybe half that if he skipped all the mandatory ship checks.  In response to the greying older man, Frey gave the smallest of shrugs.<br/><br/>"Even thugs gotta learn respect sometime, Mundo," he said simply before switching gears back to the trip home.  "Can I get that grub tah go?  Gotta deadline tah make."  It was cryptic, yet Manny merely nodded and handed off the glass to the busboy whose eye was swelling into a nice and purple shiner.  Frey nodded to him, easing on to the closest stool, resting his elbows on the sticky counter.  He sighed, thankful for the air filter clinging to his nose and mouth.  It doubled as a breathing regulator, keeping his heart rate down and his head fairly clear for this long without his meds.  A flash of pink caught in his peripherals, and he grimaced under the bandanna.<br/><br/>"I thought'a told ya to leave, Miss," he said with a slight shake of his head, accent slipping in and out of his voice.  "If'n yer gonna be messing up the atmosphere of this fine establishment, yer not gonna be welcome while ah'm here."