Evenin' Sheriff

Chp.4: Talking With An Alibi.

TORD STARED at himself in the mirror.
He saw his slightly tattered baggy pants tucked into his ugly brown boots. His belt held up his pants messily, though most of his lower half was covered by a surprisingly clean apron that he'd found whilst rummaging through the bar. He put on a lovely brown sweater vest for bartending over an off-white collared shirt, both of which he'd also found mostly clean with the apron. To finish off his disguise, he attempted to tie his only velvety black necktie around his collar nicely, but he'd stopped fiddling with it once he could say, "good enough" in a not-so-confident tone.

He cocked his head to the side, shrugging his lips almost at his appearance. His eyes wondered up to his raggedy old hat, where his devilish hair peaked out from under. He lifted his hand up and plucked one of his horns, the strands pulling along with his finger before reverting back to their original shape once his finger dragged too far away. He fixed his head back upright, lifting his hat up and readjusting it over his horns. He seemed more pleased with his cover up. He should be at least a little harder to recognize now.

He had a forgetful face, Tord hated to admit. It was one that nobody ever seemed to pay much close attention to. In every bounty poster, he wore a kerchief over his nose and mouth so it wasn't like anyone could remember his face. It was mostly the horns that gave it away; paired with the red, of course. That's what made him an iconic bandit. Tord didn't mind this aspect at all, he took pride in it. It almost made up for how nobody knew his face. Just almost.

Tord turned away from the cracked mirror and to the door. He opened it with a creak, taking a quick glance at the window to see morning sunlight peaking into the room slightly. He smiled as he continued through the doorway and down the stairs a little more confidently.

The saloon was already lit up on its own. The sunlight snuck in through the uncovered windows, leaving no furniture nor glass untouched by its bright hug. Beer jugs and transparent cups alike reflected the sun's shine, assisting it in painting the floorboards and tables in a yellowy hue.

Tord walked over behind the bartending counter with a spring in his step. He planted his palms on the wooden countertop and waited. He tapped his toe, and picked at loose fingernail. Still he waited.
Until he asked, "What am I waiting for?"

Well, he could answer that. Customers. Consumers who could pay him to serve them a ticket away from reality for a few hours. But he didn't really know how to do that. In terms of giving, he was the one on the opposite side of the counter.
But now, it was his doors that were open. What should he do? Prepare beverages for those who beckoned for it? Should he shine his shoes? Clean clear glasses? Did he even have booze in the back?

Tord eyed the cabinets suspiciously, laying his hand on the cabinet's handle. He took a peek at what was inside, before he shut the cabinet with a definite conclusion. "There is in fact booze".
Now he was just plain bored. With not even a hint of curiosity to fuel his next move, Tord didn't have much of an interest, or excuse to keep himself occupied. All he could do was wait. And damn, did he hate waiting.

Tord leaned his back up against the counter and faced the wall behind the bar. He crossed his arms as his eyes settled on the beer glasses hung up on their hooks. The sun perfectly captured their shine, dancing on the precise curves and edges used to hold a not-so-perfect antidote for the undoubtedly guaranteed depression of the town's not-so-perfect people.

Tord tipped down his hat, blocking the sun's glare from entering his eyes any further. His eyelids fell as his hat had covered them, where he was greeted with a comfortable darkness to contrast with his completely uncomfortable living conditions.

He hadn't had the best of sleep the last few nights...It wasn't like he had much of a choice. After a while, Tord had come to the conclusion that being on the run was dreadfully tiring. Another day of running and he would most likely be out in the desert right about now, dying of exhaustion. That wouldn't be the most preferred way to go, especially in a dignified sense.
Tord really needed this. Not just sleep, but this job too. He needed the money. Maybe with the help of this job he could even buy comfortable silk sheets from a nearby tailor. And with those sheets, he could sleep just a little better; thus performing his job better and making more money. Pretty foolproof plan right?