ONL — Roleplayer Guild

 Erik Torvald Viken 

"You don't say. Thank you very much, sir."

Erik was more than happy to accept the bourbon from the man, especially since he was A) not shouting or fighting him, and B) offering him a drink for free. Once the bartender came back, Erik gratefully accepted the glass, nodding to both the bartender and the man who'd introduced himself as Albert. Albert B. White, quite the name for a man that far out west, Erik thought as he downed the bourbon quickly down his throat. 

"Whether or not the owner is home, though I assume He IS the owner...," Erik said to Albert, turning his head to the bartender who quietly nodded and chuckled, cleaning up glasses and looking over at the big bar-fight taking place before them. "...I did not except a fight to start that easily, even out here west. Then again, people'll find any reason to start a brawl if they can. As long as I don't have to, they can kick their teeth out for all I care."

He shot another look at the brawl now including; the Native, the Woman, one odd-cheeked Confederate, an Irishman and...the sheriff? Erik tilted his head as he looked at the self-proclaimed sheriff, noticing his sudden change from calmly talking to charging the Indian. Was he the original sheriff, or had he been just hired like him and decided to say 'fuck it' for a good fight? 

"I'd say yes as long as you didn't call me a Swede, which I have to give to you; good work. Yes I'm Norwegian, born and bred, so perhaps I actually smell of the sea. I couldn't tell, been smelling that way for years. Erik. T. Viken, glad to meet you Albert. You must be a sailor to have known that, but you look like one so I can't say I'm surprised."

Erik smiled at the man, genuinely as a matter of fact, since he seemed to actually know about his home which many Americans frankly just didn't give two shits about. He reached and shook his hand, feeling the hard grip from his hand, possibly the hand of a harpooner. 

Just then the saloon doors shot upen, an old and bent man running in with heavy breaths and sweat pouring down from his face. He didn't seem to realize what was actually taking place in the saloon, as he simply started shouting. 

-"Them bandits are'ere! Them are after the cattle, ME' cattle! The sheriff, ya'll need to stop 'em from taking Bessy, Claudia, Bell, all of 'em!"

Erik looked at the man, realizing this was what he had been hired to fix. He looked back at Albert, sighing. "At least three...four in this place thinks I'm sheriff. Can you help me enforce the law, Mr. White? I'm afraid I need a proper American for people to listen to me." Erik poured the second glass of bourbon down before turning to the huge fight in the middle, trying to adress the crowd. "Okei alle sammen, listen up! When I come back to stop this fighting for once, I expect everyone to be alive and breathing. I don't want to have to do too much as sheri..." his voice was cut off by the sound of gunfire from the outside and the shattering glass of the saloon windows, causing Erik to jump off the chair he'd been standing on and down on the ground. 

The bandits were here, oh yes, but they weren't out after cattle no more.
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