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[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mdxfTFsAIqs]Music that is currently playing in his shop[/url]

There he is. His shop was closed, for now. He was alone. The furnaces lit with only their pilot flames and the refinery forge ran completely cold. 

The man known as The Drifter stood alone in his shop, accompanied by only the soft hum of the music and the metallic klinking of coins into a bucket. He stood behind his counter, flipping coin after coin with his right thumb and index finger into a bucket approximately three feet away from him.

On his right hip, a well-worn leather holster carried his personal revolver. The grip looked weathered, but well cared for. The cylinder showed small nicks and scratches but is currently quite clean. Most of the barrel was tucked into the holster but the parts that can be see shone with a sort of dull, gunmetal, shine.

The news hummed softly on the radio as well. Reports are coming in about the going-ons in the city at current. [color=0BE804]"Bunch-o fuckin' ornery plants messin with people. I'm sure those heros are all running in there, guns blazin' and thinking that they're kickin ass. They're just same plants, guys. Relax..."[/color] He said, in a sort of short, rant-y, monologue type of way.

[color=0BE804]"Those plants are just like myself. Just tryin' to survive..."[/color] He said as he walked over to throw some fresh coal in his furnaces and his forge, starting the process to lighting them up and starting his day's work.