"KEEP YOUR GUN HOLSTERED!" was a sign prominent on every wall in this place. It would almost hit you in the face when you swing open a couple of western style doors, accompanied by a jingle of bells to alert an old innkeep behind the bar.
Stereotypically, the man almost always seemed to be idly polishing glasses and goblets with a piece of cloth, or otherwise whatever bottle there was in an arm's reach at the time. For all you could know, it was out of habit rather than a necessity, as the man looked old enough to be doing this job since before the glass polishing cupboards became the new wild thing all over Sirius.
Though the business was threatened by the ever encroaching Crayterians next door, recently those dislocated jump-holes would help enliven the place a bit. The confused captains and pilots would scratch their heads and run back to the station, and the old innkeep would be happy to inform them... That is, of course, after insisting that they should take a seat and order a drink... Maybe even book a room upstairs.
The clientele around here would not be the most trustworthy, with people of all kind passing through this base. That made the innkeep the most trustworthy person around for the most of the lost travelers, and you could surely trust him to give you the coordinates of the new location of the holes. Most of the time.
As for the inn itself, it was nothing special, bare minimum standards for everything you could imagine, from the decoration to the rooms upstairs. Besides the odd travelers, there would be a few old timers of the base, regulars who seem to visit out of habit much like the old innkeep who seemed to be standing there behind the bar out of habit as well.
'Idle' would be the word to describe this inn perfectly. And for many who liked to keep to themselves, it could also be described as 'ideal'... Nobody around here liked the snoopers. Everybody kept their business to themselves, and so their guns were still holstered.
Solomon Dunn groaned as he entered the bar and laid his eyes on the "KEEP YOUR GUN HOLSTERED" sign. He always liked to put his gun right in the center of his table in the bars he frequented, right next to his pack of cigarettes, ashtray, and drinks. Felt like it completed the arrangement, made the table aesthetically superior. He entertained the thought of doing an 180 and walking the hell out, but he was feeling particularly parched, and felt he couldn't make it to the next bar without punching someone in the face. He glanced around the establishment for a few moments before fixating his eyes on the bartender casually occupied with polishing glasses and whatnot.
"Hey!" - He shouted in the bartender's general direction as he approached a table left of the door. - "Be a good lad and bring me something with Cardamine in it. A whole bottle."
With that said, he squeezed himself between the table and the wall, then plopped his behind on the seat with a thump. He pulled out his usual assortment of accessories, his cigarettes, some random trinkets and a datapad with shipping manifests, then dropped the lot on the table. He instinctively reached for his gun, but stopped midway and just shook his head with a sigh, instead redirecting his hand towards the datapad, lighting the holographic interface up and burying his face into it.
A couple of old timers were chatting up the old innkeep, their voices were mere shadows of their former selves - much like their bodies which were tiny and slightly crooked. They were showing him a trashy piece of parchment. The one with a red bandanna spoke weakly, though quite excitedly, "This is the real deal, Bub! /I know/ this is the fabled treasure of the great Cap'n Redbeard!" With his gnarled, old finger, he was pointing an unnecessarily large X mark on the paper.
That was when the newcomer stepped into the place with hot air following close behind him. He asked for his drink and forgot to pick it up before slipping behind one of the dusty tables, decorating the surface with everything he could find in his pockets.
The old timer was continuing, giving the young gun a disapproving look, "Back in our times, that is, before 770 - and those were very good times, mind you...".
The innkeep nodded boredly while the veteran treasure hunters eagerly agreed with each other, and put away the bottle he had rubbed a while to pick up the closest and cheapest bottle of beer he could reach from where he was. Out of habit, he briefly scanned the scene for any unwelcome stares, and since it looked safe enough, he took out a capsule of cardamine from under the counter and pulled out the bottle's cork. He filled the bottle with the powder in the capsule, put the cork back in, rapidly shook it up and down and finally slammed it on the bar along a well polished glass. The last part put a satisfied smirk on his lips.
The sound alerted a girl who was dusting a table close by, bending over the surface and showing off her ample curves, dreaming of a knight in shiny armor who would whisk her away one day. She lazily walked over and put the newcomer's drink and glass neatly by the other equipment on the table.
"'Ey darlin'. It will be 20 creds. Payment in advance..." she rubbed her fingers on her slightly discolored apron which wrapped her thin waist. "Need anythin' else?"
Dunn squinted and scowled, his ruined face contorting in ridiculous ways. He ran his hand over his face, over the leather-like skin of fused scar tissue that covered most of the left side of his face. He scratched his chin for a moment, then rubbed his smooth, bald scalp before looking at the waitress.
"Uhh...beer? Beer spiked with Cardamine?" - He stared in silence for a few seconds as his lower jaw worked left and right, chewing on nothing. - "What kind of craphole is this?"
"Nevermind..." - He continued, as he reached into his pocket to pull out a few credit chits. He looked at the chits that were spread across his palm for a brief moment, then dropped them on the table without counting. It wasn't a lot of money, but definitely much more than 20 credits. He eyed the waitress up and down, grinning. - "Buy yourself something nice, huh?"
He picked up the bottle and poured the beer into his glass, he wasn't about to let it go to waste, whatever it was. - "And uh, maybe later I can take you for a ride on my ship. Show you the universe. If you clean up well, that is." - He took a big swig out of his glass and downed it in one go, then let out a bellowing laugh as he slammed the glass back on the table.
She put her hands on her waist as she waited for the credits and listened to the complaints of the guy with an eyebrow raised. Her expression turned into a frown after Dunn spilled chits all over the table in a haughty manner. She was tapping her left foot on the floor, slightly annoyed.
"Nah, keep the rest, darlin'," she said, leaning over and allowing the base's artificial gravity do its magic on her large jugs, picking exactly the amount of credits she came for and tucking them in her bra. "Ye might need the rest for a face lift,". Since she was sure that this guy did not fit the picture of a knight in shining armor, she turned back and was swaying her curvy hips over to the next table, already having another order to pick up.
Meanwhile, having temporarily put aside the trashy treasure map, the old timers were getting increasingly restless. Listening to the conversation, they were gritting their teeth... or they would, if they still had some. They had already drunk their share, and were feeling more brave than maybe they should. Like back in their old days, brave enough to think of saving pretty damsels from evil men who would mistreat them.
"Some of these lil' pups think too highly of themselves, ain' I right Bub?" one of them mentioned to the innkeep who looked quite disinterested, making sure the 'little pup' could hear well enough.
Dunn stopped laughing and turned his head ever so slowly towards the oldtimer. That remark was something that would have sent him roaring and guns blazing in his younger days, but he hadn't personally killed anyone since '09 and wasn't about to start again now. Not without a very good reason. His eye twitched as he stared the two treasure hunters down.
"You got something to say, old man?" - He snapped finally. - "Better speak up!"
He reached for his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, then banged the filter end on the table, compressing the tobacco inside, all the while not breaking his gaze from the old men.
The old timer's eye twitched dangerously. This young puppy had stepped on so many bounds already, waltzing into the old timer's local bar with a smug look hanging on his ugly face, hitting on the girls and finally forgetting to pay his respects to the locals even if with a simple nod.
And the last one was the drop that would overflow his full cup. Everyone knew the meaning of this, the young fool was challenging him to a duel of cigar pulling.
The ancient custom of cigar pulling required the duelers to pull their cigars as fast as they could, light it with their trusty lighters, and smoke on to the face of their opponents. The first one to do that won. Once challenged, there was no way out of it unless through death. If you refused, you'd be shamed for life, and your picture would be hanged on the inn's dart board until another fool came up and relieved you of your shame with his own.
The old man stood up, shaking with irritation. His friend tried to help him remain standing up, but the old man shoved him off, handed the walking stick to him as well. He knew he was old, but he was very determined to show everyone in the bar that he's not dead yet. He had something to protect, he had to defend his honor and the respect of the regulars.
"Ye'll regret this," he frowned to Dunn with his shaky weak voice, despite trying his best to sound strong. Everyone watched him with dead seriousness. He stepped firmly but very slowly closer to his opponent, his back bent forward.
He took off his lighter and cigarette pack with lightning quick speed --which made a few in the audience let out sudden gasps-- then handed them to the barmaid for inspection. "They used to call me Gary the Firefingers... Heh heh," he proudly claimed.
"It looks alright," the barmaid said, having flipped the lighter a couple times, and sniffed the cigar package. She handed them back to the old timer, who put them back on his belt with a flourish.
Afterwards, the girl walked over to the big man, extending her open palms, expecting to check his stuff for funny play as well.
