[center] [h2][color=f7941d]Charles O'Malley[/color][/h2] [/center]
Charles clicked his tongue. [color=f7941d]“Mistah Drummah,”[/color] He began, his refined southern drawl thick as butter on a biscuit. [color=f7941d]“Twice before you had been unable to pay me my just recompense. This makes a third.”[/color] The loan shark held up three fingers, before bringing them down into a tight fist. [color=f7941d]“You out, boy.”[/color] He wasn’t going to hurt him, not really. O’Malley possessed some control, but it was the Becks that had final say. Staying on their side of the law was paramount to survival out here. Joe Drummer was going to start beggin’ real soon. They always do.

“Mister O’Malley, I don’t have the funds! I, I, I, I’m sorry. Please, just give me a little more time!” 

Charles stepped closer to Joe, so that they were only a few inches apart. [color=f7941d]“And where, Mistah Drummah, did all of that money go?”[/color] He started quietly, placing both of his hands on his counterpart’s shoulders. His hands slid to the collar of Joe’s shirt, seizing it in a tight grip. [color=f7941d]“Spendin’ it to buy some baubles for a pretty tavern whore!?”[/color] He shook the younger male vigorously. [color=f7941d]“Losin’ yourself in a drink!? Wastin’ it away on some fancy rifle to compensate for the sheer lack of manhood between your own damn legs?!”[/color] 

He let go of Joe, and patted him on the back, beginning to speak jovially. [color=f7941d]“Now ah do know that they don’t much like that whole slavery gig much anymore, but boy, I might as well own you. You gonna be running errands for me until you drop dead from exhaustion.”[/color] And with that, Charles took his leave of the little hovel that Joe called ‘home’, and made for the saloon. 

[hr]
On his way to the Burnside, Charles stopped to watch a negro climb off of a horse and head to the tavern himself. [color=f7941d][i]N*ggers gotta drink too huh?[/i][/color] He sighed and entered the building, not giving the black so much as a glance as he took a seat at the bar. [color=f7941d]“Ahm not here for story time, just champagne. Ah do trust that you can provide?”[/color] Charles said, producing a wallet from the folds of his clothing.