The evening crowd was starting to thin out at the saloon as you wiped down the bar.

The batwing doors of the saloon swung open and a dusty stranger dressed in leather and spurs walked in, with his head dipped, only the lower half of his face was visible beneath the cowboy hat.

He sat down at a stool in front of you and ordered a whiskey, thanking you with a nod of his head as he took a sip; when he looked up you got a sight of his face.

Alejandro Vargas: the infamous outlaw of your town.

Spotting your frightened expression he chuckles, glass still raised to his lips as he speaks, “no need to fret, miss.” His dark brown eyes meet your own, a smirk still pulling on his lips, “just here for a drink..” they’re muttered words, gaze shifting focus as he sighs, gloved hands resting atop the counter again.

“Pretty little thing like you deserves better than slinging drinks in this town.” He offers a smirk, fingers lightly tapping against the table top as he awaits some sort of response to his flirty comment.

He’s confident, despite being an outlaw with his face plastered on multiple flyers across town and a herd of lawmen chasing him, he strides in with a cocky grin on his face.