1861/05/12 - A Fistful of Teeth

Date: May 12th, 1861
Location: Davey's Saloon.
Players: Davey Maximo


Davey's has a lively atmosphere this evening. The card table is occupied, Tux is tinkling away on the piano, the whores are doing a brisk trade leading patrons to and from the upstairs rooms. Davey himself wallows behind the bar, helped out by an off-duty whore. He hawks a gobbet of phlegm into a glass in his hand, then 'cleans' the interior with a grubby cloth. Holding the glass up to the light Davey nods in satisfaction and pours a drink into it to sell to a waiting customer.

The 'ching' 'ching' of large roweled spurs can be heard along with footsteps on the wood floor. Pausing just through the entrance, Maximo moves first left hand, twisting the left side of his mustache, then right hand and twisting the right hand side of his mustache. Maximo looks towards 'Tux', giving a brief nod of his head before catching sight of Davey "cleaning" a glass. "Ey, hombre how about a whiskey, I'll take a whole bottle so I don't need to worry about drinking your spit…" He smirks. "…right, Amigo?" He winks and reaches his left hand up, tipping his felt hat a bit back on his head.

Davey snorts and runs his hand over his bald pate, "Rancher" he greets, in his cracked and gruff Irish accent. He plonks a cleanish glass on the scarred bartop, then reaches behind for a bottle of something brown. He uncorks it with the blackened remnants of his teeth. Spitting the cork to one side, he pours. "Come to wash the dust from your fancy boots, have you now?" he asks, filling the glass. He puts the bottle beside the glass and leans his flabby arms on the bar.

Stepping up to the bar, Maximo removes his hat gingerly, moving to put some errant hairs back into place before gingerly placing said hat back upon his head, careful not to muss his hair in the process. "Davey, have you ever thought of having your teeth pulled and getting fake ones, hombre?" Maximo asks in his heavily accented voice.

Sticking a large stained finger into his mouth, Davey 'says' "Whaff? Thefe?" he takes the finger from out of his face with a pop. "And how would I be knowing who the false 'uns come from?" he asks, rummaging for another glass. He finds one and helps himself to a measure of the brown liquid. "Sure they could have come from a Protestant!" Davey grins, horribly. Then tilts his head back to drink, giving an urivalled view of his collection of chins.

"Were chu not so /charismatic/, mi amigo… I do believe I'd start a bar just to drink there and not smell chu's breath, Davey." He adjusts the small vest that he wears and brushes off an unnoticed speck of dirt. Were one to step into the bar, they'd see the two opposite spectrums of which God brought to the world. "Or they could be made from a local tree, that ees unless chu paid for some fancy Ivory ones, Davey."

"And if your looking for something pretty to look at, Max" says Davey, grinning, "I've got meself a balcony full of girls" he points his now empty glass up to the railings. A couple of the whores blow kisses and wave back. "Now did you come in here to drink, or to insult the fella that makes the best damn moonshine in the state?"

"I did ask chu for a bottle, but chu pour a glass for yerself, mi amigo. And how am I to take that?" Maximo shakes his head slowly, the sound of those sharp-roweled spurs can be heard and a shift of his stance, as if he crossed one ankle over the other and leaned against the bar. His gaze moves up to the balcony, his left hand reaching up to sweep the hat off his head. "Aieee, Puta Elegantes!"

Davey winks, "I'll take it off the price, amigo, to be sure" he looks up to the balcony, piggy eyes gleaming. The girls by the railing giggle and blow more kisses, one rather fetching whore, a redhead in a bright yellow dress curties to Maximo. Davey takes the opportunity to refil his glass from the bottle that Max ordered, but has yet to touch or pay for.

Reaching into a pocket, Maximo pulls out a couple silver coins, setting them on the bar top, paying full price for the bottle, despite not touching it or appearing to desire to. "Do tell me, Davey, is that redhead puta new?"

Davey makes the coins vanish into his apron with surprising speed, "She is that" he replies. "Blew into town a week or two ago, she's clean and fast becoming a favourite. Jessi, they call her" The barblob slurps on his purloined drink. "Quite loudly, too" he says, grinning.

Placing four more of them same coins on the bar top. "Keep the bottle, mi amigo, and the extra is for La Puta Jessi." Maximo gives a wink at Davey. "La Puta Jessi, chu want to get rid like a wild mustang?" He runs up the stairs. "Aieee, too bad I forgot my quirt, chu look like a wild one." The spanish-mexican rancher sidles up to her and moves to be led into a room.

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