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And just like that, Simon had made a successful escape. Seemingly evading any and all repercussions for his actions. Nice! Well, actually, that just wasn't the case at all. While Simon had managed to escape the two Obviously Dangerous Strangers that harbored no ill will towards him and did nothing to him except compliment him, he did not escape the prying eyes of other people watching the bar brawl gone wrong. Several people saw Simon shoot a man straight in the back, and walk away just as quick. That, combined with the number on his saddle; 1313, gave people a false sense of danger concerning him. Simon had unintentionally given off the impression that he was some ruthless gunslinger ready to shoot people in the back instead of dueling them proper, which would likely paint a target on his back.

Yet as if lady luck floated down from the heavens and spat directly into his eye, Simon hadn't realized this whatsoever. He was far too focused on hoping that the two strangers hadn't seen just how quickly he was beating a hasty retreat. Did they know how scared he was? Agh, they probably did. Simon's mustache twitches just as he recalls why he was wandering around in the first place. Trading numbers, that's right. He was still stuck with the double thirteen, perhaps that's why he stumbled upon the bar fight. Because of that unlucky number.

But it was already getting to be a bit later than he'd like. When was the Race itself starting again? He couldn't recall. Simon briefly curses himself for not paying enough attention. Either way, it was better to be safe than to be sorry. He probably should start heading to the beach. [b][color=7ea7d8]"C'mon, Cecilia. We ought ta head over an' see how long 'til the race itself starts."[/color][/b] Cecilia did not respond, because she was a horse. But she did follow Simon, as docile as ever.

While the duo of Rider and Horse made their way to the starting point of the race, Simon idly took out his six shooter. He removed the spent casing of his used bullet, and pocketed it just in case. Ignoring the fact that the voice telling him to pocket it sounded remarkably like Perform This Way. He replaced it with a new bullet, and holstered it once again. Did he expect to need the six shooter again so soon? No, and he certainly didn't expect to need all six bullets. But it was a habit, and habits helped distract from the fact that he was extraordinarily nervous.