NOTE: This is an OC. But make up anything you want about him, I don't care :) his name is Carmello Mazzanti also!!

A scruffy looking man sat at the dingy wooden bar. It was a miracle he wasn't getting any splinters with his big, calloused hands clasped on the counter as he waited for his drink to be poured. His lips were pursed under his black, bushy horseshoe mustache as the pianist in the corner played a broken tune that sounded somewhat jolly, much unlike the gloomy feel of the room. It was one of those saloons where you walk in and feel as though you've intruded upon a criminal organization, with sharp glares and cocky gunslingers. It was the year 1886, the height of the Wild West, with outlaws running free and law scrambling to keep up with the robberies, shootings, and theft.

Once the mutton chop-bearing bartender poured the glass of whiskey and slammed it down on the counter in front of the scruffy man, he took it and brought it to his lips, taking a sip of the liquor. His eyebrows seemed to be in a permanent scowl under the shade of his dirty black hat.