[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/PGJWrG8/JackHart.jpg[/img]
[color=39b54a][b]Location:[/b] Jaunt around town > Saloon[/color] | [color=39b54a][b]Interation:[/b] [@Silentfeather][@DragonofTheWest][@BenG85][/color][/center]

	Longwater, Kansas.  It seemed like a place that could satisfy most of the [i]Needs [/i]and only some of the [i]Wants[/i].  Jack let Pepper go at her own pace while they made their way back into town.  Truth be told, this was not Jack's endgame destination.  This was supposed to be a pitstop toward higher society and bigger games.  Larger pots and more intimidating bets.  Poker is a game comprised of two very specific things: Luck and skill.

	Those who are good at it like to pretend that any success was a direct result of their masterful craft, while any defeat could be attributed to supernatural predestined misfortune.  The truth lies somewhere in the middle and, unfortunately, Jack's poker prowess was no match for Lady Luck's imposed destiny and he made the wrong bet on the wrong hand, losing nearly every dollar he had the night before.  The more he sobered up, the more he pieced together the events of the previous night and they all led to one summation: This pitstop had just turned into a temporary home.

	As such, Jack began studying the faces and movements of the people around him.  Who exactly had he just gotten stuck with?  As Pepper continued down the road, Jack's eyes caught the commotion of a few gathered townsfolk outside the law office.  Most of these people were the epitome of plain.  Their clothes with their muted colors, their demeanor as they perfectly fit their small minded stereotypes.  These seemed like simple folk with simple goals and simple problems.  Jack refused to relate.  He wanted to be big, to be vibrant.  He hoped that their plainness was not contagious.

	But then a figure caught his eye.  Masked, and adorned in a strikingly dark wardrobe, riding in toward the gathered few.  [color=39b54a][i]Could be a problem[/i][/color], he thought to himself.  Masked men riding into town has seldom gone well in Jack's experience.  He did, however, take comfort in the fact that, whatever it was, it wasn't [i]his [/i]problem.  At least he hoped not.

	With a gentle, but commanding tug of the reins, Jack guided Pepper toward the hitching post just outside of the ol' saloon, redirecting his attention.

	After getting his four legged comrade settled, he moseyed on in, taking in the view as he entered the threshold.  The great thing about a town like this is, while there will always be some portion of familiar faces, there also exists an ever-flowing current of new faces to combat the boredom.  The moments you could spend with them were finite before they moved on toward wherever they were going in the great beyond.  Jack was to be one of those fleeting faces.  Alas, you've got to play the hand you were dealt.

	It seemed much too early in the day for a party, but never too early for a drink.  Several patrons were already dipping their toes in the water.  Many of the voices were forgettable, but there was something about a hard accent that perked Jack's ear.  He briefly eyed the older gentleman who sounded like his dream image of a drinking mate.  The gaze soon drifted toward the pale olive vision sitting beside the man, before finally taking in the rest of the folk who had started their good day early.

	As he stood there just inside the entrance, he considered his current financial predicament and weighed all the options.  There was always robbing the place and everyone in it.  Not great odds, though; he was heavily outnumbered.  Plus, Jack was a terrible shot.  Maybe he could get a job as a bartender.  Except they already had a bartender.  Maybe if he killed the barte- wait, wait, wait.  No.  Not killing anyone!  He could wager what he's got left on another poker game, on the perfect hand...  The clothes on his back wouldn't go for much, but Pepper... 

	Jack instantly felt disgusted as his face contorted into the result of a sour disaster.  How could he even entertain the thought.  Pepper was family.  Very valuable family that could cover a very lucrative wager...

	"[color=39b54a]I can't think straight,[/color]" Jack finally admitted out loud, to no one in particular.  "[color=39b54a]BARKEEP![/color]" he shouted from afar.  "[color=39b54a]One whisky and keep the bottle near![/color]"  Whether the keep heard him or not, he made his way to the bar with a theatrical sense of confidence as he took residence on the stool beside the pale, intriguing stranger-of-the-day.  As he had gotten closer, the sight of her blemished neck began coming into focus and throwing up flags as red as her wardrobe's accents.  No one could argue against the fact that this woman obviously belonged to the Vibrant And Interesting Club of which Jack desperately wanted to join.

	In the same moment that he sat, he dramatically cleared his throat and gave her a sideways glance.  "[color=39b54a]Assumptions are fickle, aren't they?[/color]" he led, musingly.  "[color=39b54a]They could be dead wrong or they could be on the money, based on context clues.  We're in a saloon, there are 'friends' for hire, so to speak, and there are those 'tomorrow' folk with new, crazy ideas about fashion and industry and anything else, but retain the same basic urges as the rest us.  You're obviously a sight, with unique dressings and a permanent testament to a colorful history that anyone can see if they're looking for it,[/color]" he expressed with a guiding nod toward her exposed neck.  "[color=39b54a]I've just got to ask, and understand that I mean no offense, but... how much for a man down on his luck?[/color]"