Evenin' Sheriff

Chp.6: Walks On The Banks.

TORD FOUND it odd that in just the span of two weeks, Sheriff Thompson had visited the bar around 19 times total.

In that time, Tord had also found that gin was not in fact the sheriff's usual. Vodka had the real honor of taking that place. The sheriff had picked gin the first day because he'd been off put by the change of bartender, so to speak. He was unsure of Tord's- or rather Todd's capabilities and wanted to "put them to the test". Tord just figured that meant he didn't want to be judged.
Which Tord wouldn't do, or hadn't been doing until he subconsciously realized that he'd been counting the days Thompson would visit, and what drink he preferred on what day.

But that wasn't judging; no, that was just observing. Sheriff Thompson was his star costumer after all! It was best he remembered these things, right? Not creepy at all, just bartending stuff.

Tord had to admit though; he didn't expect Thomas to...stomach so much. As far as he knew, he never drank before, let alone liked to down shot after shot. It made him wonder more and more. What changed?

Well, a lot of things obviously. But Tord could only speak for himself and the tension. As for Thompson? He hadn't had a clue now.

It was late. The moon was the only thing to illuminate the streets of the silent town.
Sheriff Thompson sat across from the nervous bartender. He took a swig of his strong shot. The sheriff's throat stung having been no match for the hard whiskey. Tord could smell the intoxication as it escaped from Thompson's nose.
Soon, he could feel an equally as wasted gaze on him and the glass he was cleaning.

A shiver of a sigh from Thompson breezed through his parted lips and brushed against Tord's skin mysteriously, before he spoke with a sudden small smile. "Walk with me, would ya?" Though Tord had saw the obvious built up to it, the sheriff's voice alone had still shooken him up before he could even process the just as chilling request.

When Tord had recovered enough to meet Sheriff Thompson's gaze, he immediately felt underprepared for it.
His expression was soft and kind, unaware of the effect the request had on Tord's mental state. His eyelid heavy in drunken haze; his eye underneath holding a dead spirit but still withholding a glossy overcoat. He was the complete opposite of intimidating to Tord.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he stared, examining the man. "You know, Todd, I don't bite." Tord
shook, near forgetting his fake name for himself as it was said. "Only bark here. Not the type of place or person to use a firearm." His casual tone put an ease to Tord's tense shoulders. As well as shone light onto something Tord had overlooked.

The man was drunk. He just needed someone to make sure he got home safe for Christ's sake! Tord felt like a idiot, regretting his previous misjudgement and dismissing any of his fearful doubts about it. The drunkard couldn't hurt him if he tried with the amount of booze he's ingested.

Tord sighed at himself in disappointment before looking back up at the sheriff. He put on a small smile, setting down the glass he was cleaning and nodded. "Sure. Someone needs to make sure you aren't seen stumbling on the job now huh? I can only speak from experience." He jested, cool as a cucumber.
He collected his payment for the night, tucking it away behind the counter to retrieve later. He joined the sheriff outside just after he finished closing up shop.

"So," Tord huffed out as he faced Sheriff Thompson. "You live around here?" The sheriff shifted his eye onto the bartender with a toothy grin plastered on his face. "Is that an offer?" He enticed, beginning to walk away from the other man and into the lonesome street. Tord hesitated, pondering if the heat on his face was real or not before catching up with the sheriff. That was a fool's question.

They walked silently together along the dark roads of the town.
Even with the knowledge he'd gained about Widow's Return in the last week or so, Tord still felt entirely alien to any place besides the bar.
Where are we going, actually? That was the question Tord kept in his head, since he had already decided to avoid the subject verbally.