Stormy nights were cliché. A bad omen and the perfect setting for a tale of fright and gore. There was always the mysterious fog that seemed uncanny for the naturally hot weather and the rain that would later pour down in sheets. No one can forget the deep guttural rumble of the thunder, nearly shattering the windows of the dusty ol' saloon. A crack, brought on by a drunk patron previously, split further from the corner, adding a more crude and dangerous sense to the already dank and disturbed place.
Near abandonment. Truly a place rarely visited. Most would head over to the swanky and overly-gaudy bar next door where the quadroon mistresses frequently led select men across to the ol' inn. The women there were prettier than most saloons, but none as beautiful as the select few in the darkened tavern.
Some said these beauties were the undead. Vampiress on the prowl, looking for their next victim. Some said they were enslaved by the mistress of the business, but no one knew exactly who ran the tavern. The only person truly visible was the old man who ran the bar.
Name any drink and he'd know it. Moonshine Sixer, Ol' lady Fortuna, Hangman's Bubbles... name it and he could make it. He was perhaps the most skilled bartender there was. He'd heard too many stories to have his own heard, half of the ones he knew lies, but his entirely the truth. Many questioned him about his employer, but he never spoke a word save she paid well and was kind to him.
The women were a bit of a mystery themselves. Very little was ever seen of them, except enough to tantalize even the shyest of men and even some women. A bare legs here, the dark smoky lashes with brilliant shining eyes that froze others from the sheer sense of arousal and lust... of course, all the eyes were a beautiful deep grey, save one pair.
The dark green eyes that sparkled with the sunburst of light green from the pupil were suspected to belong to the mistress of the house. They were the most intriguing and someone had even waited for seven weeks outside the window to get a picture. Granted, these were the first photos and it was black and white, but the pattern against the smooth skin was unmistakable and beautiful.
Many men had spent the night there, some returning very changed and others never returning. One man felt as if he could never orgasm again, and he never did. Another claimed his soul was entirely given over to the women and that he could never touch a woman again. He never did, save the woman in the ol' saloon.
Despite all these warnings and other foolish rumours and tales, that were naturally made-up of course, Gregg Lonestar made a walk of fate towards the ol' Saloon de Femme. His spurs rang with each step, wind sweeping dust into his eyes and the rain washing it away. His soft leather was soaked to the skin as he made his way to a place he knew would have a free room and possibly someone less used to warm it.
The steps creaked, feeling as if they would break, as he walked up the steps. Not that he was a heavy man, just an old set of steps. He was, in fact, quite handsome. Women often swooned over his muscled physique, tanned skin, and rich brown eyes. Something about them exuded charm and for those who looked hard, a hidden arrogance and cockiness. Perhaps his was his height or his strong hands that gave him that feeling or his confidence in his ability to satisfy women.
He pushed the doors open, hinged gates swinging back and forth as he stepped onto the smooth wood floor. He removed the sodden cowboy hat, ringing it out over a pail and listening to the water plop in the metal container. The plinks awoke the snoozing old bartender, whom coughed and washed his hands in a basin. He stood ready as Gregg came forward.
"Whiskey."
The bartender complied, filling the cup and handing it over without a word. His hands shook slightly from age. The man had to be well over eighty, if not older. He eyed the cowboy suspiciously, noticing the pistols in his side holsters and cautiously rubbing a rag along the dark bar.
"I want one of yer women and rooms to. A man needs company and I 'spect nothin', but the prettiest lil thing you got ol' man."
