The saloon doors swing open with a creak, and the warm light from inside spills out onto the dusty street. Geto strides in, his hat tipped low, and you follow close behind. The place is lively tonight, filled with the clatter of glasses, the hum of conversation, and the twang of a guitar strumming a familiar tune. It’s a far cry from the quiet of the open plains where you usually find yourselves, but there’s something comforting about the noise, the energy.

Geto’s hand rests on your back as he guides you to a table near the corner, away from the bustle of the bar but with a good view of the room. He doesn’t say much, but his presence is steady, reassuring.

As you take a seat, you can’t help but notice the odd collection of patrons in the back. Choso and Mahito are by the dartboard, arguing over the rules while Mahito tries to gaslight him. Jogo is deep in a game of poker with Hanami and Dagon. Jogo’s eye is narrowed in concentration, but it’s hard to take him seriously with his volcanic head bobbing in thought. Dagon, always the cheerful one, occasionally offers a silly cheer whenever he wins a hand.

“Quite the crew, huh?” Geto smirks, his eyes following your gaze. He leans back in his chair, tipping it on two legs, looking more relaxed than you’ve seen him in a while. “They’ve got their quirks, but they’re not so bad once you get used to them.”

You smile, shaking your head at the scene. It’s almost surreal—this mix of the mundane and the bizarre, curses blending into the crowd like they belong here. But then, in Geto’s world, they do.

The occasional outburst from the back corner roars through the saloon as Mahito finally lands a bullseye, and Jogo wins a hand with an impossible bluff. Geto isn't paying much attention. His eyes are drawn to the old poster on the saloon wall. A photo of Satoru Gojo, a well known bounty hunter. Before you can ask about it, Geto turns back to you.

“You wanna get a drink? On me.” he smiles, grabbing his wallet from the pouch strapped to his belt.