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Finn glanced around the saloon in pleasant approval, to the wood panelled ceiling, the thick-glassed windows which filtered in the fading dusty light, even the fresh polish of the counter. He found himself fascinated with each bottle rowed neatly, their length and design all unique but would ultimately do the trick for any common man who waltzed inside looking for a buzz. Actually, he saw himself no different than the drunkard slumped in the corner to the men hooting at one another over a sloppy game of cards. Men were men - loud and wolfish, be them alone or in their own pack. Though coming alone never meant carrying spirit of a loner. If anything, Finn passed unnoticed through the saloon’s doors with a casual saunter until he reached a comfortable place nestled between the last stool and the corner of the wall, content in his solidarity without the attention of his entry had he been with a crew of his own. But then and there he felt no need to pipe up with the men nearest to him as some of the older fellows had in search of hearty conversation, for he was usually far too lewd and abrasive for their taste and suited himself best with men of equal morals.
But for now he merely listened, to the creak of the floorboards in call of each stomping boot to the beat of large, grubby palms on the tabletops belonging to the men hollering in what was either comradity or dispute. Even the forced, feminine chatter from a woman seated upon a table’s worn edge reached him, the men surrounding swarmed to her like flies and giving more attention to the manner of which her legs crossed over the other beneath her hitched skirt than anything else. Those that were well past drunk sat in small clusters, their laughter rolling over their full bellies through ale-stained beards, clapping their knees with every slurred joke one of them managed to complete in their drunkenness. Even the quietest of men sat in the company of their own drinks and as Finn sat by himself he found no weight of lonliness to his visit. If anything, there was more pleasure then in simply watching and soaking in the sort of town he'd stumbled into. He’d introduce himself when he felt it to be the right time, when he felt especially rowdy for the sake of being so, but for now he was in no mood to rile everyone up quite yet. No, for now he rest his elbows on the countertop, one arm lazily draping over the other while he rolled his spine with a low grunt. It was all the same routine whenever he came inside and he'd find himself just as comfortable here as he wouldthe dingiest joints miles and miles away in smaller towns than this. More often than not he was always able to recognize a scowling face or two in his direction at establishments such as this, but this town was new, unexplored, and exciting - one he hadn’t hit and one he’d have no qualms with turning inside out if his trigger finger itched for a thrill.
Finn eyed the one tending the counter; younger than himself but seemed a sensible young man nonetheless - nowhere near as gruff as the men he served nor was he the sort Finn was used to ordering from. But a fresh face did not withhold him from ordering his heavy drink in the manner of a man clicking his tongue expectantly at a pretty woman, ignorantly expectant and regardless of manners. His order drawled past a lazy grin while his eyes widened as though it would meet the bartender's any sooner. Whiskey was safe to settle- it was quick, cheap, and easy: three delights he happily frequented. When he gave the order plain and simple, an oafish laugh followed by a quirk of his fair eyebrows.
Finn glanced around the saloon in pleasant approval, to the wood panelled ceiling, the thick-glassed windows which filtered in the fading dusty light, even the fresh polish of the counter. He found himself fascinated with each bottle rowed neatly, their length and design all unique but would ultimately do the trick for any common man who waltzed inside looking for a buzz. Actually, he saw himself no different than the drunkard slumped in the corner to the men hooting at one another over a sloppy game of cards. Men were men - loud and wolfish, be them alone or in their own pack. Though coming alone never meant carrying spirit of a loner. If anything, Finn passed unnoticed through the saloon’s doors with a casual saunter until he reached a comfortable place nestled between the last stool and the corner of the wall, content in his solidarity without the attention of his entry had he been with a crew of his own. But then and there he felt no need to pipe up with the men nearest to him as some of the older fellows had in search of hearty conversation, for he was usually far too lewd and abrasive for their taste and suited himself best with men of equal morals.
But for now he merely listened, to the creak of the floorboards in call of each stomping boot to the beat of large, grubby palms on the tabletops belonging to the men hollering in what was either comradity or dispute. Even the forced, feminine chatter from a woman seated upon a table’s worn edge reached him, the men surrounding swarmed to her like flies and giving more attention to the manner of which her legs crossed over the other beneath her hitched skirt than anything else. Those that were well past drunk sat in small clusters, their laughter rolling over their full bellies through ale-stained beards, clapping their knees with every slurred joke one of them managed to complete in their drunkenness. Even the quietest of men sat in the company of their own drinks and as Finn sat by himself he found no weight of lonliness to his visit. If anything, there was more pleasure then in simply watching and soaking in the sort of town he'd stumbled into. He’d introduce himself when he felt it to be the right time, when he felt especially rowdy for the sake of being so, but for now he was in no mood to rile everyone up quite yet. No, for now he rest his elbows on the countertop, one arm lazily draping over the other while he rolled his spine with a low grunt. It was all the same routine whenever he came inside and he'd find himself just as comfortable here as he wouldthe dingiest joints miles and miles away in smaller towns than this. More often than not he was always able to recognize a scowling face or two in his direction at establishments such as this, but this town was new, unexplored, and exciting - one he hadn’t hit and one he’d have no qualms with turning inside out if his trigger finger itched for a thrill.
Finn eyed the one tending the counter; younger than himself but seemed a sensible young man nonetheless - nowhere near as gruff as the men he served nor was he the sort Finn was used to ordering from. But a fresh face did not withhold him from ordering his heavy drink in the manner of a man clicking his tongue expectantly at a pretty woman, ignorantly expectant and regardless of manners. His order drawled past a lazy grin while his eyes widened as though it would meet the bartender's any sooner. Whiskey was safe to settle- it was quick, cheap, and easy: three delights he happily frequented. When he gave the order plain and simple, an oafish laugh followed by a quirk of his fair eyebrows.