Title TBD

Btw we will take everything seriously for this.....𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂

The stranger glares at Fowl, hell, he damn near snarls. Well doesn't that put a damper on the mood? Sawyer feels his lips retract into his teeth from annoyance, but lets it go. His Pa did not raise a trifling man. He does tap his fingers impatiently against his resting face though.

The stranger takes a long gulp of whiskey and sets the empty glass down with a clink.
"Arizona Buh-laze. Pleasure to meet you." He replies in a clipped voice that was clearly forced.
.
.
.
Arizona.
Arizona Blaze.
A man.
Named ArizonaBlaze.
Stole his fucking seat.
Arizona. Blaze.

Sawyer laughs. He's laughing hard. He doesn't even feel bad. He's falling out of his chair. Still doesn't feel bad. He's rolling on the floor goddamn it-no remorse.

Some smarter, non-blitzed out version of himself-one that sounds awfully like his Pa, tells him to stop laughing. (You ain't never seen this man in your life. What if he's armed? What if he's had a shit day? What if he doesn't have nothing left to lose? You can smell whiskey on his breath Sawyer, just what the hell are you doing?) And oh, he tries hard. He tries real, real hard to listen. Does he? No. Sawyer Fowl might not be a trifling man, but he's never been a sociable one either.

So he keeps laughing. Of course he does. His hair's getting sticky from rolling on the floor, and his chest hurts a little more than it usually does. Sawyer, absentmindedly, wipes tears that are flowing, when he notices the bartender put his drink down with a clink. Sawyer lifts himself with what little control that rational part of his brain has, and then immediately shuts it up by reaching for his glass.