Wild West, Bounty Hunting and Arthur Morgan.

Rhodes.

Elizabeth made it to the windy town of Rhodes. It was small, partially full of desert sand and shops with two saloons and a motel. Once tying Epona up, she petted the horse reassuring the mare she would be back soon.

Howdy ma'am," a gentleman called as he walked past her. Elizabeth offered a curt nod and walked in the opposite direction. The stares had already begun, mostly from other women. Just to antagonize them even more she took her hat off. Elizabeth could have sworn she heard one woman gasp as they looked at her hairstyle.

One side of her head held flowing brown hair with a tight scalp plait just left of her fringe, on the other side of the plait was her shaved head. It was a popular look for female bounty hunters, but it was barely known unless someone was hiding from said bounty hunter. She smiled at the looks and headed straight for the saloon, hoping to get some information about the Van Der Linde gang and if they were around as she suspected they were.

Standing at the bar, she ordered a beer and leaned into the bottle, not wanting to make conversation with other people. "You heard about what happened in Valentine last week?" One man asked his drunk friend. They stood to the left of Elizabeth, seeming too drunk to care for eavesdropping.

"Yeah, bastards. Killed many people that day," his friend slurred. "Hope they get hung for it," he added. Elizabeth was taking mental notes of just how bad it was in Valentine, she was in Saint-Denis when it happened, but the bullet holes in buildings told her enough.

"You seem lonely," a voice called from behind her. Looking down at her feet and sighing, she turned around to look at him. The middle-aged man was horribly drunk, half his beer belly hung out from his tight waistcoat. The long black and grey hair showed someone who didn't take care of themselves.

"Not interested, fool," she replied, turning back to her beer. The man planted a hand on her shoulder, his heavy hand nearly made her flop to the side.

"I don't care, bitch. You do as a man says." Elizabeth laughed, loudly enough for him to hear. The saloon fell silent as they all watched, even the piano player sat on the edge of his seat, waiting to see what the manly dressed woman would do.

Downed the rest of her bottle she grabbed the neck of the bottle and smashed the bottom of it on the bar, causing some screams from a couple of women. She turned, letting the man see the sharp broken glass as she lined it up to his throat. "I'll only let a man tell me what to do once he survives his fucking throat being slit. Now, fuck off beer belly."

Stood mouth agape, the man quickly scurried out of the door. Not wanting to start a fight. Elizabeth chucked the bottle in the wooden bin behind the bar, tipping the barman for her scene and left the saloon, all watching her closely as she walked out. "Well, it seems I keep bumping into you," a familiar voice calls from behind her.

She turned to the voice, seeing Jim Milton leaning against the saloon door. "Well, hello Mr Milton. I don't need to save you again, do I?" The man chuckled to himself before standing up fully. He stared at her body, looking at the work trousers and tucked in shirt she wore.

"You dress like a man," he commented. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and started to walk off. "I mean... you don't dress like a woman."

"That meant to sound better?" she drawled as she walked towards the local store, needing some hair pomade and carrots for Epona. "What do you want, Milton?" Jim seemed taken aback by her brash tone, but kept at her pace.

"I wanted to thank you properly for saving me yesterday, may I treat you to dinner this evening?" Stopped at the door, she turned to look at him. The man seemed desperate, he nervously rubbed his hands together.