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

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Simon had intended to list off more potential titles in hopes of not offending, but realized how exceptionally stupid 'ghost pardner' was, and figured that if he opened his mouth again, he was going to somehow top that in stupidity. Seeing as how Simon lived in a constant state of anxious embarrassment he decided there was no need to increase that embarrassment further. So in order to prevent his mouth from spewing some horrible word combination, he takes a big drink of what he grabbed from the bar. Which was pretty much fruit flavored sweetener. Simon didn't even flinch when he gulped it down. Seemed he had weird drinking habits. Admittedly it was overly sweet, and he'd have preferred orange juice, but saloons didn't tend to have orange juice, sadly.

Simon nodded at the ghost, who introduced itself (himself?) as Neon Knight. He nodded at him in acknowledgement, before noticing the extended hand. Simon awkwardly grasps it. His hand was incredibly sweaty, yet his grip was really strong. However he was also slightly trembling, which made it a really weird experience. He gently shakes the ghost's hand, and swallows down his sweetener. [b][color=7ea7d8]"Good to uh, meet ya. Ah'm Simon. Simon Garfunkel."[/color][/b] Simon winced at his introduction. His accent always got thicker when he was more nervous, which turned his I's into Ah's. Plus the way he said his first name, followed by both his first and last name made it unnecessarily dramatic. Why in tarnation didn't he just say his full name all at once?

He takes another sip of the fruit flavored sweetener. Underneath all the sugar it seemed to be apricot flavored, or maybe it was peach. Simon proceeds to nearly choke on it when the ghost gestured to thin air, and proceeded to curse in exasperation. Simon himself never swore, but he normally wasn't the type to admonish others for swearing. But something about a floating metal ghost drinking liquor and swearing abruptly completely caught him off guard. It was as if that one thing made Simon realize just how absolutely insane this entire situation was.

He was talking to a ghost, in a saloon, after being punched out of the saloon by another ghost who was haunting a man who Simon approached previously to inform him that his bag was open while on horseback in the middle of a race across America. And he was incredibly self-conscious around this ghost as if he were someone Simon was trying to impress at a town get-together, which was what he called parties. Hadn't he been a police officer once? He was a normal guy with a normal career, yet somehow he was taking these freakish events better than he handled a conversation with a friendly stranger.

Simon was brought out of his existential crisis when he saw the Evil Fake Bartender lead Jules away towards the washrooms. His first thought was that, oh sweet lord in heaven, she's going to die. But common decency prevented him from chasing after, well, that and he didn't want to get punched again. Plus the Evil Fake Bartender had abruptly mellowed out, and clearly did not care one bit about being subtle. So if he really wanted to turn Jules' face into a piece of abstract art, he would have just done so and been done with it. 

The conflicting feelings and suspicions left Simon in an uncomfortable middle ground of staring at them as they left like a worried grandmother, and then shifting his focus back to the ghost. Except now he was sweatier, and very obviously more concerned and jumpy. He opens his mouth as if about to say something. Except nothing came to mind, so Simon awkwardly closes his mouth again.