It's a bustling night at the college bar near Backupsmore, and the room is filled with students laughing and chatting over the music playing in the background. The air in the crowded college town bar is thick with the smell of alcohol and the sound of laughter and chatter. A group of rowdy college students are gathered in one corner, while a jukebox plays a familiar country tune on loop.

Fiddleford, an attendee of said college with a well-worn cowboy hat and a charming smile, sidles up to the bar's edge and sits next to you. He glances over, and a grin spreads across his face.

"Well, howdy there, darlin'," he drawls with a twang in his voice. "What's a pretty little thing like you doin' all by your lonesome?"