[hider=The Man With No Name and Eleven Fingers][center][color=orange][h2]The Man With No Name and Eleven Fingers[/h2]
[img]http://imagecache2.allposters.com/images/pic/CLASS/130-046~Clint-Eastwood-Posters.jpg[/img]
[i]"If I were to spin this chamber three times, and take out five of six bullets, would you let me pull the trigger?"[/i]
[i]"This face ain't pretty, but then, I ain't been pretty for a long time."[/i][/color][/center][/hider]
[hr]
The man walked into the tavern and worked the built-up grime and dirt into one of his cheeks as he surveyed the room. People talked. People drank. People ate. People occupied the space while doing none of the former. The man took off his hat, beat the dust off of it, and then hung it on a hook by the entrance. The man also hung up his jacket and tightened his belt. With a turn, the man walked up to the bar, slapped down a hand on the counter and jerked his head left.

The man spat, with impressive force, and a slimy spatter of spittle splashed across the side of the bar.

[color=orange]"Bartender,"[/color] the man muttered in a coarse voice that rasped like steel against rock, [color=orange]"your bar's in need of cleanin', and I'm in need of a drink."[/color]