[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/191025/8cdf724c293b89304abaa9606662bde0.png[/img][/center]

[center][b][color=7ea7d8]Mentions:[/color][/b] [@AmpharosBoy][/center]

[hr]

Saying that the day was off to a bad start would have been an understatement. Simon had ridden in late last night, gotten his number, and immediately passed out once he got himself a room at the local inn. All without looking at what his number [i]was.[/i] The moment he woke up, Simon had grabbed his saddle cloth, intending to fasten it to Cecilia's saddle after breakfast. Which was when he saw it. 1313. Not only had he gotten the unluckiest number to exist, he had gotten it twice.

Which was why, currently, Simon found himself wandering around town, leading Cecilia behind him. He was desperate to find someone who would trade numbers with him. In truth, Simon was not entirely sure it was legal to trade numbers, but he knew he couldn't race with numbers as  bad as the ones he had. It was practically suicidal. To make matters worse, the fact that he was leading around his horse made people even more wary of him, as if he had something planned. In truth the only reason he hadn't left Cecilia in the stables was because he feared a devious racer might try to harm rival horses.

The first few people Simon asked responded with expected answers, a great deal of variations of the phrase 'fuck off.' Sometimes followed by the word 'pardner.' Yet still, he was undeterred. Well, actually he was very deterred. He didn't want to get yelled at again, but after weighing the benefits in his head, figured that being yelled at was a better fate than being stuck with 1313.

Simon's train of thought was soon derailed by the sound of glass shattering. Unfortunately for him, his fight or flight reflex wasn't able to activate in time, due to him being quite near the source of the noise. It was the saloon, which was..not particularly surprising. Years of being a policeman meant Simon had seen a lot of bar fights go south.

Of course, he wasn't a policeman anymore, so it really wasn't any of his business. Which was why Simon ignored how the short and terrifying blonde was throwing himself around like a human battering ram, and why he continued to ignore the scene even as said terrifying blonde man was stomped into the ground.

Simon merely kept walking, his feet literally shaking in his boots with every step. It wasn't until he heard the person currently stomping the crap out of the shorter man declare [i]"Why ain't you stayin' down!? Dammit.."[/i] In response to the fact that his victim wouldn't cease struggling, that Simon paused in his hasty escape. The sound of the bar fighter drawing a gun from a holster finally convinced Simon to whirl around. Did this ruffian really plan on shooting someone during a simple bar fight?

As said ruffian attempted to line up his shot despite being a bit off-balance from the beatings he received, Simon's hand ghosted over towards his holster. The moment he realized it wasn't an empty threat, and this guy really did plan on shooting someone, Simon sprung into action. His arm moved with practiced ease, sliding his trusty six-shooter out of the holster and pointing it dead ahead. His other arm temporarily dropped the reigns of Cecilia, and moved to pull the hammer back.

Simon was trembling and sweating, but his hands didn't shake even a bit. He squeezed the trigger, and [i]BANG![/i] The shot rang out, and the bullet tore through the unfortunate goon's shoulder. Forcing him to drop the gun, and knocking him right onto his back. [b] [color=7ea7d8]"Y-um, y'really shouldn't go around tryin' ta shoot people. It just ain't right."[/color][/b] Simon declares, attempting to lecture the person he literally just shot in the back.