The old man grumbled drunkenly, outwitted and out-numbered now. He looked to Johnny one more time with bulldog eyes before stealing his drink and marching out the saloon like a wounded predator. Johnny was surprise how sudden the shift of power had been, guessing that she who controlled the flow ruled the land.

Something felt off though. Rose and the fella who smelt of death were gone for a long while, the weirdo with no face vamoosed, and a stranger with a sword was sipping red wine like he was about to see a play. A play on Johnny's life maybe? In an idiotic way he trusted Rose, half knowing that she was probably just as dastardly as he was. Johnny wasn't that stupid. Well, he was stupid and drunk...but that didn't matter!

He wanted to leave diplomatically before, paying for his drink with the money of dead men and such until that old fart decided to karmaly fuck him over. He didn't want to leave U.S. Marshals on his tail any clues of his stay. He guessed that he already fucked that up a hundred fold, for drunkard were the worse snitches.

Johnny looked to the entrence way for a moment, and then looked over to the barely touched drink the fellow who'd taken Rose outside had just left sitting there. He walked over to it, swirling it around a bit before chugging all of it down without a second thought. It was a strange revenge, because in a way he knew what came next.