dual-pup post → barways
The man sitting at the bar keeps his head low and turned to the left. 'Restless' is probably the best term to describe him; he keeps twitching and fidgeting as though there were a gadfly perpetually at his ear. On the stool directly to his right is a black bag that he keeps one hand on, about as large as a typical carry-on these days although those aren't terms in which his time really thinks. Despite his best efforts, however, he isn't exactly inconspicuous. If you are paying close attention (or just sitting to his left), you will notice that half of his face isn't quite his. The eye will never blink, the lips will never move, and the skin color doesn't quite match up. It almost does, but not quite. Not quite. The other half of his face is handsome - beautiful, even, with a bright blue eye and features that are curiously blank but well-defined. An empty shotglass sits on the bar in front of him, a straw resting on its rim.
The woman out on the range has kept her father's pistols with her ever since arriving in the bar. That is no change from her former life on the other side of the door. Her dress, however, is different. She's dressed in a button-down shirt and riding britches, black boots coming almost all the way up to her knees. She is still a very dangerous woman -- it is simply more apparent now than it was before. Every now and then, a shot rings out, smoke curling from the barrel of the pistol from which the bullet was fired. (Why Bar keeps supplying her with bullets is a mystery.)
( ooc: posting for once! just one request: plz 2 b keeping the crack to a minimum. ty! )