Trying it oot
He cavalierly seated himself at the now slightly more welcome table and graced his two drunken roommates with a cocky smile. "Well, certainly I put that brute in his place." He said loudly.
BJ frowned, deep in drunken thought. He looked almost ready to speak, but before he could make a sound, Winchester continued with his unnecessary interpretation of the events.
"I have no qualms about informing you both of my disgust at that man's etiquette. In Boston, he'd have been escorted out in a scornfully dishonoring fashion. It would have destroyed his reputation. But here, behavior such as that seems almost to be expected, and certainly not looked down upon, if your reactions are anything to go by."
"Oh, Charles, believe me. We're just as disgusted as you. The man he's waiting for doesn't even have a reservation." Hawkeye said with exaggerated disgust.
"And you know what that means? No place cards. He'll be laughed out the door, just you wait." BJ added.
Winchester frowned. "I see you find this to be rather amusing."
"Not at all, Charles. We find Frank Burns locked in the closet to be rather amusing. You're just charming company."
"Might I presume that you're being facetious?"
"If you're buying the drinks, you can presume anything you want." BJ announced.
"I regret to disappoint you, gentlemen, but I have no intention of ingesting anything vaguely reminiscent of the swill you're so eagerly lapping."
"Well then, what the heck did you come here for?"
"I mistakenly thought it possible for this appalling excuse for civilization to have a redeeming value in this establishment."
Hawkeye took a long swig of whatever was in his glass and boisterously slammed it back down on the table. "Congratulations, Charles, you've just made the first major mistake of your stay in Stellian. This town has no redeeming factors!"
"So.. I noticed."
"That's why we love it so much, isn't it Beej?"
"That and the free room and board, courtesy of Ole Doc Potter." BJ concurred, which gave Hawkeye the initiative to continue his rollicking encomium.
"A man would be a fool to deny living the life we lead. Free tent out back behind the most prestigious medical practice in the world, great company, bad liquor, and every so often a pretty head on top of a prettier skirt."
Charles incredulously turned back to face the two doctors. "Do you mean to tell me that that germ-infested sewer you jokingly refer to as your housing... you live there VOLUNTARILY?!"
"We only just put it up, Charles. Don't pass judgement until we reshingle the roof. It's a fixer-upper, sure, but.." Hawkeye trailed off, suddenly very interested in the contents of his glass.
"I actually live across town, but I spend so much time here I guess I never bothered to go home. Just one of those things. Anyway, Ole Doc's more than happy to let us live here. He'd put us up in his own house if it wasn't so small and we weren't so destructive."
"Have neither of you put forth any effort towards marriage?" Charles asked scornfully.
"And give up all my time with BJ here? No sir. Don't need a woman when you've got him." Hawkeye said indulgently, clapping BJ on the back in a show of goodwill.
"I am married. But, no children and my wife seems to enjoy the time alone. In fact..." BJ began, his eyes taking on a new light, one of anger and bitterness.
Hawkeye stopped him with a gentle tap on the shoulder, and he sighed deeply, shaking his head. "I need another drink."
Charles put forth his best effort to pretend not to hear him, and he briefly turned toward the door, wondering if there was a single place in town where he could go and still retain his sanity, dignity and good name... when suddenly the door opened and in walked a determined-looking, full hoop skirt and french candlestick curl wearing woman.
...
A woman... in a place like this?! Surely she must be lost, and possibly even in danger, he thought with astonishment. Quickly, he turned to his roommates and the sight of his frantically flickering blue eyes managed somehow to get their attention.
"Something the matter, Charles? You act as though you've just seen a ghost wearing white after Labor Day."
"Gentlemen, behind me. Don't make a scene, I'm sure with a bit of cooperation and inconspicuousness we can handle the situation. Simply look, I believe this speaks for itself."
BJ and Hawkeye momentarily believed that some sort of walking catastrophe; perhaps a human-sized wasp or a hostile Yankee holding a musket, had entered the premises, so when all they saw was the usual deer head on the wall and Hotlips Houlihan standing next to the door, they wondered what exactly this Yankee was trying to pull.
"I don't see anything. Charles, are you sure you don't want a drink?" BJ asked politely, certain that the man was mad.
"You don't SEE anything? Gentlemen, are you blind?!"
"What's to see? Some tables, a deer head, the door, Baker Smith losing his lunch, Margaret, Taylor Smith tipping over the table.."
"MARGARET?!" Charles exclaimed, his voice still in a whisper. "A lady has just entered the premises and you're referring to her by her common name, not even interested in escorting her out of this hellhole?!"
"No need to worry about Margaret. She's a big person, she can take care of herself." Hawkeye said with more than a little sarcasm in his voice.
Sure enough, she smiled and nodded to everyone in the saloon who acknowledged her, and took a seat at the now conveniently vacant end of the bar. Talking and laughing with the bartender, she ordered something and then turned to look around the room.
"But... SURELY this is not a proper place for a lady!!!" Charles sputtered, disbelief rushing through his veins.
"You're absolutely right. But what does that have to do with Margaret?" BJ asked with sincere confusion.
"My word.. is.. is she looking this way?!"
"Maybe she is and maybe she isn't. She's got eyes all around her head." Hawkeye said, taking another sip of his drink.
The sight of the so-elegantly groomed woman had almost the same effect on Winchester as he'd hoped a fine shot of Brandy would have. In the moments it took his eyes to follow the woman so brutally referred to as "Margaret" around the room and onto the profane seat which she so happily seated herself atop, he felt his headache dissolve into oblivion. His hope for his own sanity was instantly restored. It was nearly a miracle, that such a beauty could thrive in this dry, smothering wasteland.
Surely, it would be ungentlemanly to allow such a grand act to go unappreciated. He turned back to his roommates and put his chin in his palm. Scrutinizing the two men, he wondered what sort of undesirables they really were, to let such a delicate blossom sit alone at the bar in a place like that.
"Would I be correct in assuming that neither of you have any intention of offering to buy the lady a drink?" He asked lazily.
"You don't mean to say that you're leaving us already?" Hawkeye said, feigning shock.
"Forgive my impertenence, but your infantile prattling can certainly not compare with the company of so delicate a maiden."
"Delicate...?! Maiden?!"
"Aww, Hawk, that's high society for you. You're not a man unless you throw money at anything wearing a corset." BJ consoled him.
"Hey, I'll remember that next time I forget my wallet somewhere." Hawkeye mused as Charles walked determinedly to the bar.
Never one to be nervous in the presence of women, he forced fleeting thoughts of anxiety out of his head and he put on his most gentlemanly expression. He carefully placed his palm on the bar next to where she sat. It managed to get her attention and she turned to face him with a tantalizing gaze in her perfectly-shapen blue eyes.
"Good evening, Madame." Charles said softly, taking her hand and placing a kiss on the outside of her lace gloves.
"Oh, hello." She said pleasantly but in a detached sort of manner. She almost looked as though she had been waiting for someone else, because the moment she saw his face her eyes hardened to a merely amiable expression and away flitted the sultry flitting eyelids of just a moment ago.
"Please forgive me for disturbing you, I noticed your entrance from across this vile alehouse and it was as if a seraphim descended to earth on golden wings. Your presence here is like that of a scintillating emerald discovered amidst a pile of rubble. May I be so bold as to favor my hedonistic side and purchase you a carafe of ambrosia?"
"My my, I'm flattered." She said, smiling widely. "What exactly is it you want, though?"
"Only to bask in your heavenly light for a brief, shining moment."
"He wants to buy you a brew." The bartender said dully.
"Oh! Is that it. Sure, I'm game." She laughed and he seated himself at her left. Shifting away from him, she demurely looked downward and changed the subject.
"I don't think I've ever seen you around here before. Visiting someone?"
"What? Oh, certainly not. I've no acquaintances here."
"I see. You're a yankee." She said matter-of-factly.
"Oh, well, yes. I'm a physician from Boston. Due to a series of misfortunes I found myself dishonorably employed at the local medical facility under a real antediluvian of a proprietor."
"You work at the 4077th?" Margaret asked eagerly.
Charles smiled with amazing restraint and nodded. "Unfortunately, I shall only be in service for a week, and then I'm returning to Boston."
"So you thought you'd come on out and see the sights while you're rooming with those two clowns?" She asked in a low tone, snickering.
"Well, yes."
"Sir, if it wouldn't be too much of an encumbrance, may I give you a piece of advice on living in Stellian?"
"Stellian? Where is that?"
"The town we're in right now."
"Oh! My, where is my memory? Of course, of course!"
She smiled coquettishly, lowering her lashes. "Well, sir, stay the hell away from ladies. There's no faster way to find yourself with a bullet through your skull and a pitchfork sticking out of your chest than to make yourself friendly with the women. As it is right now, my husband has just walked into the bar and he'll be none too reluctant to take you out back should we be seen talking. So, go on back to your table now. It was delightful to make your acquaintance, and I sincerely hope you enjoy yourself in Stellian."
The way she said it, it seemed that the former delightful companion he'd devoted so much of his thought process and flowery poetry to was there one moment and gone the next. Her eyes were cold as steel and he never doubted that she wouldn't hesitate to take him out back herself.
With a courteous bow, he impassively slunk back toward the table. To his shock and dismay, Hawkeye and BJ were gone, and in their place was a lewd, rank circle of strangers. 4 men sat there as if they'd been there all night, playing cards and chugging ale, and Charles quickly found safe ground at the same seat he'd been refused not an hour earlier. It was now completely vacant and the only other people at the bar were the lovely woman, Margaret, and a tall, imperturbable man who seemed almost unaware of her bubbly speech and affectionate laughter. A moment later, they departed and Charles was left all alone in a bar full of complete strangers. Dangerous strangers. Angry strangers with weapons and a deep dislike for people like him.
All those factors combined made the entrance of yet another woman enough to turn his head in typical jaded spectator fashion. Unfortunately, this woman was nothing at all like the angelic Margaret; in fact, she was a stumpy, matronly girl who wore a red and white party dress, and sported hair as black as coal tucked under her large flowered hat in a fashion that was more utilitarian than stylish. Although her attire was adorned with bows and lace, her hands were perfectly covered in crocheted gloves similar to Margaret's and her hat was elaborate and well-made, her face was nearly a joke. She was darkly tanned, which in and of itself was a terrible offense to all that is ladylike, and although her eyes were dark and lively, her nose was so large it could not be forgiven and instead of a credit to her character, it was an eyesore.
Not that her character was all that endearing, either. She came into the bar laughing uproariously in a nasally voice, flirting shamelessly with every man in sight, and finally seating herself at the table with the 4 card-playing primates. Charles turned away, hoping to ignore her irritating bray.
The bartender approached him, scrutinizing. Finally he spoke. "You gonna buy anything? Bar's all to yourself now."
"Have you anything appropriate for a night of regrets and solitude?"
"Oh, please, buddy. That joke ain't ever been funny. Will some whisky do you okay?"
"As long as it will numb this painful ringing in my head, I'll drink whitewash."
The bartender serviced his request, and he sighed deeply. Sipping the bitter liquid, his first instinct was to make a grand spectacle of spitting it onto the bar, jumping to his feet and demanding an apology for the abysmal quality of the beverage, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.
How horrible. Only a few minutes ago, he felt his soul full of energy and pride. Eagerness. And just like that, he was no better than the common trash that milled about this pitiful rat-infested hole and stunk of cheap booze and sweat.
Every bit of his breeding was made nil. It was tragic. It truly was. Surely, somewhere in the world, a choir of angels was singing with sympathy for his horrid predicament.
This thought made him smile. Yes... a symphony was playing right at this very moment, every instrument crying out in anguish, at the knowledge that such a wonder of humanity had been left to squander his merits in such a place. A grand work of pain, something fitting. Mozart's Requiem. Yes! He closed his eyes and could practically hear the soulful voices and instruments pleading with the creator to spare him from the torments of hell.
It was truly amazing what the mind could do under such conditions. As he envisioned the "Dies Irae" in his mind, it was almost as if he could really hear the tune outside his head. From just below him, even. He could pinpoint the exact place where his mind reproduced the sound, as poor as reproduction as it was.
He sighed deeply. The mind was an astonishing organ. He revelled in the sound of the music and almost felt his body lifting off of his seat. No one thought oddly of a man sitting at the bar with his eyes shut and his head tilted back, and he sat like that for quite a time, never once looking down at the pitiful drunkard lying on the floor next to his stool, playing the first tune that came into his head on his harmonica.
And then, all at once, his fantasy came to a close, and what had previously been the words of god, soaring in on angels' wings, suddenly and unexpectedly transformed into the words of man, staggering along on a wooden stump.
"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO A LADY THAT WAY!!!!!!"
Charles' eyes snapped open and he turned with fury toward the sound of the voice which had so thoughtlessly crushed his one moment of solace.
To his shock, he saw the woman who had entered the bar with such a total lack of grace standing up and haughtily regarding the man to her immediate left.
To his absolute shock, he realized the man to her immediate left was the same unbathed swine who had refused to allow him a spot at the bar. The man got to his feet with some difficulty and towered over the woman. Swaying back and forth, he put his hands on his hips and leaned in toward her, saying something very quietly. The woman's response was that of great insult and with a hearty stance, she drew back and slapped the side of his face.
"You... oh that's it, you bitch! You'll die for that one!!" The man slurred, reaching for something in his belt.
At that moment, Charles had had it. If some brutal war of the degenerates was to break out, he would be damned if he'd have any part of it, no matter how insignificant. He figured that now, while the ugly woman had the man's attention, he would simply slide down off the stool and out the door before he could even be seen.
Getting to his feet was no difficult task, and he took a few cunningly silent steps, silently congratulating himself at his wit and wisdom. Oh, the tales he'd tell the men back home, of being trapped in a dense fog for 3 days in a carriage with a madman driver, and of being forced to sleep in a damp tent with two psychotic men who drank more than any man should have been able to survive, and now this, escaping with his life and body intact from a classic barroom brawl. The thought was so enrapturing that he lifted his foot high in a victory march of sorts, and swiftly brought it down onto the floor.
===CRACK===
The sound rang through the bar like a shot, and Charles instinctively leapt back and screamed. Beneath his feet, he saw a decrepit old man lying next to the barstools, his hand drawn back like a slingshot from a crushed piece of metal that at one time resembled a harmonica.
"What in the hayell was that?!" The voice of the angry man who'd been slapped by the woman followed Charles' scream so closely it seemed as if the two voices came from the same mouth. Charles caught his breath and his mind resumed its previous pattern; "Get out of here now. Get out of here now."
"My, my, what is this gentleman doing on the floor? Ha ha, how whimsical." He said, his voice slurred a bit from the whisky. He decided to continue on his merry way, when suddenly the angry man stepped into his line of vision.
Just beyond him, over the man's shoulder, Charles could see the woman staring in shock at the man. And all of a sudden, she turned tail and ran. Just ran, out of the bar and into the night.
"My god, man! Don't just stand there, she's getting away!!" Charles exclaimed, pointing at the door frantically.
The man chewed on something, his dense eyes not at all comprehending. "You done broke mah paw's harmonicker."
Charles felt the color drain from his face. "Your... what?"
"MAH PAW'S HARMONICKER. That harmonicker's been in the family since mah great granpaw done won it at a lucky hand of go fish. Ain't seen one like in in 50 years, my paw ain't."
As the man sputtered, Charles made the connection between the man lying on the floor and the crushed piece of metal next to his hand.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but if this instrument is truly of such great value, what was that man doing lying on the floor with it?" He asked reasonably.
The man's face turned bright red. "MAH PAW KIN LAY DOWN ANYWHUR HE DAMN WELL PLEASES!!!"
"Well, certainly I'd not deny your father the right to life, liberty and..."
"YOU YANKEES DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO NOTHIN' BUT TALK, DO YA?! Well, talkin' ain't gonna bring back my paw's harmonicker."
"I certainly know an ultimatum when I hear one, and as soon as I'm back in Boston I'd be more than happy to reemburse your family for the cost of the damaged instrument."
"AIN'T NO MUNNEY GONNA CHANGE NOTHIN." The man roared.
"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with any other means of compensation...."
The man snarled and reached into his pants yet again, this time his hand emerged with a pistol. Charles jumped at the sight and backed up all the way to the bar.
"S... Surely.. there must be some way we can negotiate!"
"REAL MEN DON'T NEGOSHATE NUTHIN. THEY JEST SHOOT."
"I.. am a gentleman of rather generous means. Anything you'd like, I can get. Caviar! Fine beef.. wine... linen? Women! Anything you wish for..."
"AIN'T YOU GOT A GUN?!"
"Why, certainly not... you see? Completely defenseless!"
"HEH HEH. GOOD!" The man grinned widely, showing yellowed and rotting teeth. He sluggishly rose the gun and Charles screamed again, attempting to dive behind the bar. Unfortunately, his physical prowess was rather limited and he crashed to the ground behind the bar, his head throbbing as above him, a bottle shattered and he was sprayed with foul-smelling liquid.
"GALL-DURNED YANKEE! WHERE YOU GONE?!?" The man yelled.
Above him, the bartender stood with his arms akimbo, looking with irritation at the mess. "Partner, I'd come on out if I were you."
"Are you mad?! The man has a gun!" Charles hissed, shielding the top of his head with his hands.
The bartender sighed. "Why don't you go on home, Ebenizer. This'un ain't worth your time."
"FERGIT IT!!! HE DUN BUSTED MAH PAW'S HAR--"
"Someone busts your paw's harmonicker every week, Ebenizer! You ain't had that original harmonicker in years. Ole man Smith makes yer paw a new one everytime someone steps on it. Just give it a rest!"
"Y'ALL SIDIN' WITH A YANKEE?!" Ebenizer exclaimed, and then he fired his pistol through the ceiling to prove his point.
"NO, EBENIZER. But if y'all are gonna keep bustin' up my establ'shment, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."
Ebenizer thought this over for a moment, and then he chuckled. "Okay, fair nuff. But y'all tell that Yankee next time I see 'im, there ain't gonna be no mediater or bar. And I ain't gonna be drunked then, neither!! No sir! When I ain't drunked, I'm the best shot in 20 counties. Tell 'im to wait'n see! Come on, boys. We kin sure's shootin' find nother place to drink."
A few minutes later, the table of rowdy men had cleared out and the bartender sighed, making a gesture to Charles to get to his feet. "That there was Ebenizer Fish Jr. His paw was Ebenizer Fish Senior, yellerist liver in the state. Can't take a sip without fallin' down, but he's always got to have his evenin' constitutional. Y'all okay, partner?"
Charles shakily stood up, surveying the bar with a hand to his head. "I believe so, yes. I must express my gratitude--"
"You're payin' fer that bottle'a proofer Ebenizer dun shot. Not to mention the roof. This ain't happened in almost 2 years, and I really don't like havin to have the sheriff come out for a little somethin' like this."
"I will gladly assist you and your fine establishment in any way I possibly can."
"Not to say shoot-outs ain't good fer business. They sure is, but thing is if y'all ain't got a gun, ain't nobody gonna wanna come'n see it."
"I.. see."
The bartender sighed and pushed past Charles to get a broom and clean up the broken bottle on the floor. Uncertain what to do, Charles opened his wallet and lay a crisp $5 bill on the counter. He then walked all the way around the counter and headed for the exit.
"Ain't had nothin' like this happen since that crazy boy show up 2 years ago an' start wearin' dresses to get out the war. Real shameful, that was. He didn't carry a gun and to this day he wear dresses. Knew his pa."
Charles felt queasy and he turned to leave. The bartender managed to spit out one more random comment before he made it outside.
"That girl sittin' with Ebenizer was Miss Magnolia."
Nodding and smiling, Charles practically ran out the door.