<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/originals/6b/c8/c4/6bc8c424fca89a5f794ddde16f9ae2e3.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Character: White Bear (Robert)<br/><br/>Location: Lola's Saloon<br/><br/>Time of day: Sunset/Evening<br/><br/>Tagging: Everyone / Desmond, Rose, Lola, Jasmine<br/></strong><br/><br/>Robert didn’t say anything when his boss Desmond emerged from the Sheriff’s office - he wasn’t the talkative type when it came to his work. Over the years of working for Mr. King, he had learned that results tended to speak louder than words, and if there was anything Demond King liked, it was results. So naturally, results were what Robert liked to give to his boss, regardless of what needed to be done to achieve those results.<br/><br/>Mr. King seemed to appreciate the lengths to which he went to get the desired results, which is likely why had the honor accompanying his boss so frequently. A man as important and successful as Desmond King always needed protection, and who better to protect him that a former Indian warrior was loyal to the man to a fault? Robert certainly never complained about his devotion to Mr. King - after all, he owed the man his life.<br/><br/>With their business at the sheriff’s office concluded, Robert followed his boss to their next destination, the famous saloon operated by the eponymous Lola. Robert would’ve gladly maintained a lookout throughout their time inside the saloon, but his boss had offered (or ordered, rather, since Robert tended to obey through orders rather than requests) Robert take some time to himself inside the saloon and enjoy the moment. Of course, Robert would still need to keep an eye out for any possible trouble, but that went without saying.<br/><br/>“You do me good, boss,” Robert had told Desmond in thanks before the pair entered the saloon. Demons seemed to enjoy making an entrance, which worked to Robert’s benefit, as it let him slip inside with few people noticing him. All the better to approach unseen towards anyone who might harass his boss. Anyone who dared do something so reckless would soon become very familiar with the edge of his knife.<br/><br/>While Demond made his presence known to the establishment, particularly to the woman known by all as Lola, Robert took a seat at a smaller table by himself, removing his black white-brimmed hat as he did. It has been years since he wore any of his Native American garb, and after the hell he went through during his formative years, he doubted he would ever wear them again. Not that he had any love for the White Man civilization either, but his loyalty to Desmond meant that he preferred Western culture by default.<br/><br/>With half of his attention focused on keeping an eye on his boss, Robert let the rest of his attention get a good look at the establishment. Lola’s was incredibly swanky for a saloon, living up to all the stories he had heard about it. The girls didn’t look half-bad either, offering the customers a nice bit of eye candy to accompany their drinks. Robert has heard tales of the girls being very friendly toward their customers, though only for the right price - anything else might result in a few broken bones or lead poisoning via bullet. As tempting as it might be to put those rumors to the rest, Robert knew enough not to risk starting trouble when he was in the presence of Mr. King.<br/><br/>Deciding he would like a drink, Robert turned to the nearest approaching saloon girl to order something...and his eyes went wide when he saw who the girl was. Or rather,<em>what</em>she was. Her dark skin, her facial features, the way she walked...she was clearly a Native American girl like himself, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she was from his own people, the Shoshone. Perhaps not his own tribe, but certainly his people, he thought. She was also incredibly beautiful, her eyes sparkling with life and her hair framing that gorgeous face perfectly. Not to mention she had a fairly ample bosom, whose size was enhanced in that saloon outfit she wore. Seeing a Native beauty like her dressed in that Western attire was almost sacrilege, but the sight of her more than made up for it.<br/><br/>As she was walking past, Robert chose to get her attention in perhaps the quickest way he could think of without getting chastised in the process: he stared directly at her and asked “You are of the Shoshone, yes?” in his near-fluent Shoshone tongue. It had been years since he had left his tribe, but he could still recall most of his native language.